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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24378928">RumRollins Week 2020</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/pseuds/Kalika999'>Kalika999 (kalika_999)</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/pseuds/kalika_999'>kalika_999</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst'>winter_angst</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Jack and Brock's misadventures [120]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Additional Warnings Apply, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, HYDRA Husbands, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:42:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>27,030</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24378928</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/pseuds/Kalika999, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/pseuds/kalika_999, https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>RumRollins Week 2020, summaries in each chapter.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Jack and Brock's misadventures [120]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/547894</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Say It Ain't So</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Some days he was angry at him, so unbelievably angry he tried to tell himself he was happy Brock was dead. But the anger never lasted, it couldn't last because Jack loved Brock too much.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings: Apologies, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Reassurance, Drug Use, Drug Addiction</p><p>Post for Monday of RumRollins Week: Apology/Angst<br/>Photo credits go to the wonderful Kalika999</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><br/>Jack hunched over, staring at the coin lying on the coffee table. The rest of the table was cleared off, the magazines, decorative bowl with fake fruits and the remotes all in a pile on the floor, a heap of empty cans strewn on top of it.<p>The phone was off the hook, the sound of it ringing had turned into a grating noise. Jack couldn’t remember the last time he slept, his dreams too vivid and far too painful. It seemed that whenever he closed his eyes he saw it.</p><p>He saw Brock lying there, saw him still with his glassy eyes pointed upwards, the murder weapon still inside his arm. </p><p>Jack didn’t know who to blame. Some days he was angry at him, so unbelievably angry he tried to tell himself he was happy Brock was dead. But the anger never lasted, it couldn’t last because Jack loved Brock too much. </p><p>He reached out, long pale fingers trembling. He didn’t pick it up, hadn’t been able to since he found Brock. </p><p>Brock had given it to him with a proud smile. “Ten months,” he had announced, flicking the chip at him. </p><p>Jack had quickly dropped the mail to catch it, smiling stretching across his face. It wasn’t just that Brock’s happiness was contagious, although it was — he was just happy to see Brock doing so well. When they had reconnected after college, Brock had looked… He hadn’t been the man Jack knew.</p><p>But in spirit, Brock was the same. He was still witty and fierce and just a bit cocky. It didn’t take long for Jack to fall for him. His addiction didn’t take long to rear its head, money disappearing from Jack’s wallet that he tried his best to ignore and combat by no longer carrying it. But then his laptop vanished, and his watch. Jack was at a loss but he had fallen too hard to address it outright. It was his motorcycle disappearing that was the very last straw. </p><p>Jack and all of Brock’s old college friends got together and staged an intervention. It went just as well as expected, Brock denying it vehemently before he grew furious at Jack for ‘airing his business’. It had taken almost three hours to convince Brock that it was because they cared for him. Jack wished he could say it was his love for Brock that finally convinced him to go to rehab but it wasn’t. </p><p>It was Natasha opening up about her past with alcoholism. Jack had no idea despite being so close with her, but Clint clearly did by the way he placed his hand on her arm. </p><p>She became his sponsor and one of his number one supporters followed shortly by Jack. </p><p>Brock did well. No, Jack corrected himself mentally, Brock did outstanding. Even with the ups and downs of detoxing and the sparse visitations Jack could have, they stuck it out. </p><p>Brock had made his amends, apologizing to Jack for what he had stolen but Jack didn’t care about that. He was worried about losing the one thing in life that couldn’t be replaced — Brock.</p><p>But now his worst fear had been realized and all it had taken was one fucking slip up. </p><p>Jack sat back at the couch, throat searing with emotion he tried to swallow back. He cried too much in the past two weeks, he knew he had arrangements to make. It shouldn’t have been so daunting, not after this long but even looking at the pamphlets Steve and Bucky had slipped under the door when he refused to open the door, sent him spiraling and reaching for a bottle to numb the pain. </p><p>The wooden chip was lying there, a marring reminder of everything that Jack had lost. He couldn’t even step into the bedroom they once shared. Jack knew that this wasn’t good for him, that he needed to get himself together and begin the steps of mourning him appropriately but hell if it didn’t sound simpler than it actually was. </p><p>The knock on the door couldn’t have come at a worse time. Jack heaved a small breath but didn’t waver his stare at the chip. </p><p>If he had refused to stay the extra hour at work, had told Jason that he didn’t care if his wife was in labor or not, Brock would have still been here. How was Jack supposed to let go of guilt that he had rightfully placed on himself?</p><p>“Jack,” a muffled voice seeped through the door. “I know you’re in there and I’m not going away. Open this door before my arms fall off.”</p><p>Of all the people who had come to his door he hadn’t heard from Natasha at all. A voicemail from Clint had told Jack she was taking it pretty rough but insisted he was there to listen if Jack was ready to talk. Jack had ignored that message like all the others. </p><p>Jack wasn’t sure why he got to his feet. Maybe it was the shock of her arrival? He paused to look at himself in the mirror hung in the hallway, the one that Brock had insisted be hung so he could double check his hair before he left to go to his new job as a teller at the local bank. </p><p>His hair was a wreck, dark locks in array and greasy. His cheeks were sullen and gaunt from his lack of eating. Scruff had grown over his previously clean shaven face, making the scar he’d had since childhood even sharper. </p><p>Jack looked away. </p><p>Pressure built up behind his eyes and Jack clenched they shut heaving in a deep breath before he slid the bolt and opened his door. She didn’t say hello or give Jack a moment to ask her why she was there. With surprising strength she shouldered her way past with far too many plastic bags. </p><p>Jack turned around and watched her look around the apartment with a wrinkled nose. After she deposited the bags on the cluttered kitchen table she took it upon herself to open shades that had been closed for two weeks — practically blinding Jack with the first sunlight he’s seen in a while — and opened the windows. </p><p>“It stinks in here,” she announced, callous as ever. “Like depression and someone who hasn’t showered in a while.”</p><p>“Nice,” he found himself snapping. “So glad you came here to judge me.”</p><p>“Well, no one else would do it.” She turned around, arms crossed over her chest, sweeping a look up and down him. “You’re a mess. Go take a shower and I’ll clean up.”</p><p>“I didn’t ask you to come here,” Jack bit.</p><p>“Nope,” she turned away from him, popping the ‘p’ with a jauntiness that cut a bit at Jack. How could she be happy? “Go on. I’ll drag you in there if I have to but between you and me, I’m not too interested in seeing you naked.”</p><p>At a loss, Jack slowly turned toward the bathroom and obediently showered. Seeing Brock’s copious bottles choked him up but it wasn’t as bad as he had expected it to be. And, much to his surprise, he did feel a bit between after washing the sweat, grime and tears off him. He brushed his teeth and combed his hair and shaved.</p><p>When he emerged from the bathroom he was feeling a bit apologetic for his rudeness but he was taken off guard by the difference Natasha had made. Everything he had torn apart in his grief was put back together. The dishwasher was running, the phone was back on it’s hook and plugged in. Piles of mail had been sorted and all the bottles were gone. The washer was humming and the sheets and blankets that Jack had put on the couch (but hadn’t actually used) were gone. </p><p>Natasha was at the stove, two steaks sizzling with butter, rosemary and garlic cloves. It had been Brock’s favorite meal and Jack wondered if this was an homage to him. “I’m not going to feed you in a towel, Rollins.”</p><p>“Nat, I'm sorry that I was — ”</p><p>“Shut up,” Natasha held up her hand waving toward the bedroom. “Put on some fresh clothes and then we’ll chat.”</p><p>Jack swallowed as a lump rose in his throat. “I… I don’t know if I can. I haven’t been in there since the paramedics…”</p><p>“I took care of it.” Natasha’s voice was a bit softer and she looked at him with a soft look. “It’s safe to go in there Jack, even if it’s not easy.”</p><p>Jack inclined his head a bit and turned toward the door. His hand fell on the knob and he twisted it…</p><p>Jack jolted upward with a ragged sob.</p><p>“Hey, it’s alright Jackie,” Brock’s voice was still thick with sleep as he reached for the lamp. “You’re cryin’? What happened?”</p><p>“It was a dream.” Jack drew in a choking breath and grabbed Brock, pulling him against his chest.</p><p>“Oof, easy big guy,” Brock laughed a bit uneasily. “What kinda dream got you this upset?”</p><p>“I dreamed I lost you.” Jack was so happy, so unbelievably happy that it wasn’t real. </p><p>Brock was here, he was in his arms where he belonged. Jack buried his face into Brock’s hair, the smell of his conditioner suddenly was the sweetest scent Jack had ever experienced. His sobs were a bit quieter, his hold less desperate and needy.</p><p>“You ain’t gonna lose me, Rawls.” Brock sounded much more awake, voice soft and reassuring. “What was it this time?”</p><p>“You were dead.” Jack’s face was still buried in Brock’s hair, arms wrapped around him. He wasn’t ready to let him go — he couldn’t ever truly let him go. “I… God, Brock, it was so real.”</p><p>“I’m sorry.” Brock whispered. “I’m so sorry.”</p><p>“Don’t be sorry. You — God Brock, what you’ve accomplished is amazing. I just…” Jack managed a tear choked laugh. “I guess I’ll never completely shake that fear.”</p><p>“You shouldn’t have to worry about that,” Brock’s was low and depreciating. “You should have a boyfriend who didn’t steal from you.”</p><p>“I don’t care about stuff,” Jack reminded him. “I care about you. It was just a nightmare, nothing more.”</p><p>“Well, I guess all I can do is promise you it will never become a reality.” Brock pressed closer. “I won’t ever use again because I don’t want to hurt you and because I want to be here with you forever.”</p><p>Jack pressed a kiss to Brock’s hairline and then to his lips. He believed Brock and trusted him just as much as he loved him. The nightmares would never completely go away but being with Brock was a reassurance. They were on a journey of Brock’s sobriety together and Jack’s fears were not going to deter them. </p><p>With Brock lying against his chest, Jack was able to fall asleep again and this time his dreams were filled with a picturesque wedding.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Not a disappointment</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Brock goes through another break up and Jack is always there to pick up the pieces.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings: Alternate Universe - College/University, Break up, Light angst, Love confessions, Weird sandwiches ;)</p>
<p>Tuesday: Confession<br/>Art by Hydra_Trash_Gal 💙</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
<br/>
</p>
</div><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck you.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was the last thing he spat out and the only thing that lingered on his mind when he took off back to the campus and didn’t hesitate to buy a good stock of alcohol from the nearest beer and wine store before he got there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wanted to drink, and he wanted to do it alone. Away from prying eyes or servers that would eventually tell him he’d had enough and if he’d want them to call him a cab.  He opened the first bottle of whiskey and poured it over a few cubes of ice, then drank.  Soon after he made another, then another and then probably a few after that.  All he thought about was the anger inside of him and he refused to allow it to settle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the time Jack showed up, Brock was having trouble keeping his eyes open. He didn’t even notice his best friend arriving before he went into the kitchen and then was entering the sitting room, only becoming aware of his presence when he sat down onto the coffee table directly in front of their couch, a sandwich on a plate held out for him and staring Brock down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re drunk.” Jack bluntly stated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Brock’s gaze flicked down into the glass in his hand, only a cube of ice quietly melting away inside, he couldn’t remember drinking the last of it. He licked his lips, the thought of making another crossing his mind despite his limbs feeling too heavy. “We broke up..”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know.” Just kept holding the plate out and eventually Brock reached to take it, staring at it. “You texted me about ten minutes ago while I was working on my paper. Eat the sandwich.” Brock looked up and Jack drew in a long sigh before he exhaled. His mouth opened, then closed again, as though he couldn’t figure out whether he should say what he was thinking or not, his hands rubbing up against his jeans. They sat in silence for a few seconds before Jack finally continued. “He’s an asshole, Brock.  You suck at picking boyfriends, they’re all wastes of space.  Eat the sandwich.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock snorted, struggling to juggle the glass while lifting off the top slice of bread.  He reached past Jack to the bag of corn chips sitting half open and dumped a handful over the turkey and cheese before slapping the mayo slathered bread top back on and crushing the combination together.  Understandably Jack made a disgusted face but Brock always found solace in his depression sandwich, and to gross his best friend out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“At least I give ‘em a try.  You could ‘ave anyone ya want but ya don’t even give that girl in our English class a second glance.  She’d fuck ya in the bathrooms if ya jus ask, don’t even haveta bring ‘er to our dorm room.  Instead ya jus wanna stay alone fer some reason.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack glared. “There’s no reason to be picking on me just because of what happened to you.  I’m just saying you need to find someone who’s going to treat you better, you know?  And please don’t fucking eat that, why can’t you be normal?” He reached over and took the glass, and Brock found himself letting him. Jack looked down at it, aimlessly swirling the partially melted cube of ice instead of looking towards him. “It really sucks to keep seeing this happen to you, to keep watching you do this to yourself when I know you can do better. Every few months you start something with someone else, and it always ends the same.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, that’s apparently my fuckin’ lot in life.” Brock mumbled between chews after taking another large crunchy bite of his sandwich.  He idly noticed corn chips falling out and bouncing off the plate and he only dropped himself back against the couch.  He could feel Jack’s eyes on him as he forced himself to down another bite, despite his stomach protesting it.  Soon he set the plate aside on the couch cushion and pressed his hands to his face. “I know m’handful and yer always there to pick up the slack when this shit happens.  Thanks fer that, I know it ain’t easy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have no fucking idea.” Jack grumbled, and Brock felt his stomach twist. He was right, he kept doing the same shit, picking up the same terrible people and ended up with the same outcome all the time.  He should be better at it by now.  There were red flags, signs he knew like the back of his hand, but he wanted to prove to Jack that he wasn’t always going to fuck up and sap all of his best friend’s energy trying to pick himself up again.  Out of everyone he knew, Jack was the only person that spoke to him with complete honesty and also helped him recover; he wanted to show him so badly that he was right and he could do better.  That he would show him so.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Right then though, he needed another drink.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He raised a hand to take his glass back, but Jack only smacked it away. “The fuck, Jack?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Unless you’re planning on putting some water in this, you aren’t getting it back.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“M’already fuckin’ everythin’ up..” Brock bemoaned. “Jus give me this tonight, not like it fuckin’ matters anyway, all I do is disappoint everyone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Disappoint?” Jack seemed genuinely caught off guard, as if that was going too far. “Who said you’re a disappointment?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No one, but it ain’t like it’s not obvious. You jus said I was terrible at pickin’ ‘em.  I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> what’s runnin’ through that head of yers. I ain’t an idiot.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you talking about?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack was making it very difficult to have this fight with him. What else would he be thinking about?  He had a paper due but the moment Brock texted him, he was here, wasting his time and playing the job of the goddamn best friend.  At the back of his mind he wondered how much longer Jack would tolerate all this, when he’d finally get to a breaking point and just start to ignore him, making up excuses until he finally managed to get his request filled to move out of their shared dorm room and leave his sorry ass.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen, I don’t think you’re a disappointment, Rums.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sounded so gentle, his face looking strained and clearly confused, the glass he’d been holding was suddenly put to the side of him like he was tense. But Brock knew what he heard him say. “You jus said it, Jack!  Ya said, I have no idea. So clearly, I’m a burden.  Clearfuckin’ly I’m a damn disappointment.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack's eyes abruptly snapped back to him and his shoulders tensed, opening his mouth to say something but Brock cut him off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I dunno at what point ya gave up on givin’ a shit, I know this ain’t yer breakin’ point yet but it seems real close to it and I’ll jus do ya one better and help ya along so we can get it over with.  I don’t even care no more.  I’ll go request a change of dorms fer ya so you ain’t havin’ to deal with my shit and all’s forgiven, alright?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then the air between sat silent and thick, Brock could barely even look Jack’s way as his stomach churned painfully.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Brock..” Jack began, his hands rubbing together. “God, how could you- fuck.  Okay listen.  I don’t- “ He sighed and Brock chanced a look at him, watching a hand come up and he was rubbing the back of his neck, struggling to talk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s hard to deal with all of this every time not because I find you disappointing or I don’t give a shit.  Frankly, it’s the opposite, it’s because I care about you.  It’s..really painful to witness you so hurt, and all I wanna do is take it away. I get frustrated because sometimes it seems like you’re doing it on purpose, and I know you get a little self destructive sometimes so I can’t tell when you walk into a bad thing by mistake or if you’re fully aware of what you’re getting into.  I know some of these guys you meet and get together with, they make it seem like they’re going to make it all better, and there’s flowers and rainbows and all that crap, but there are signs, even minor ones and it’s like you don’t take them into account and- fuck.  I’m not good at this, I don’t like talking so much about these things.  Shit.  I just feel- “</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jus say it, Jack.” Brock pressed his lips into a tight line.  He’d rather Jack just be honest with him, like he always usually was, he needed it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I struggle, a lot, because I- I love you.” He winced as soon as they came out and Brock stared at him, stunned while the words hung in the air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took him a few seconds to realize Jack was waiting for him to speak and he blinked, nodding slowly. “I love ya too, Jackie. Yer my best friend, but ya know that already.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. Brock, <em>I love you</em>.” His green eyes widened slightly as he carefully said each word, and Brock found himself staring into them, distracted until..</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You..what?” Brock stammered, a hand wiping at his mouth.  Maybe he wasn’t as drunk as he thought or maybe he sobered up quickly. “<em>Love me</em>..love me? How long?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A while.” Jack said, staring down again at his hands. Brock swallowed hard. “If you don’t feel comfortable sharing with me, I get it. I’ll move out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yer gonna stay.” Brock said quickly. “M’too fucked up to deal with this shit tonight, too fuckin’ in some limbo of sober enough to hear ya but also too drunk right now, but I know I want ya to stay ‘ere.  We’re definitely gonna talk about this in the mornin’ though..or maybe the afternoon or somethin’, I dunno. At some point.”  He’d never felt so helpless and angry he was drunk like this, unable to fully process his thoughts, or even reach out to grab Jack’s hand. “I’m a fuckin’ mess right now..”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack looked up, hands clasped together but thumbs fidgeting, his brows pushed close together.  “Okay. We can deal with this when you feel up for it then. Let’s get you to your bed, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a lot Brock wanted to say, he already knew he wasn’t saying properly what he had in mind, how much he didn’t mind Jack cared that much about him to say he loved him in that way.  He was just too smashed to form the right words together, it was too difficult.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To be honest, he needed to go to bed before he did something stupid, and bold.  Like the instinct to kiss Jack, like a whole lot of other times he’d been left broken and worn down and he was there.  Or when things were fine, and they were crammed on the small couch for their tiny common area watching a movie. There were a lot of times he wanted to, he just never tried to, better at talking himself out of it instead of giving it a chance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A part of him was even mad Jack did this right then, when he was too fucked up to talk about it, but he couldn’t be bothered to call him out.  He took the offered hand Jack gave him instead, and his legs almost collapsed beneath him.  Jack had him though, a firm arm around his waist and it was all a blur from their couch to his bed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Jack pulled the covers over him, Brock took his hand, refusing to let him go yet. “Jackie, lay with me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack hesitated. “You know I can’t- “</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock cut him off with a sharp shake of his head. “No funny stuff, promise.  I know I get handsy sometimes but it’s the truth.  ‘Sides m‘too sleepy to even try anyway.  I jus wanna spoon, yer so fuckin’ warm and if I do somethin’ you can leave, alright?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tried his best to look sad and Jack seemed to think long and hard before he nodded at him. “Let me get changed, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hurry up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He did, back in a soft t-shirt and sweats as Brock tried his best not to grin too wide. He carefully rolled onto his side and felt the bed shift behind him until Jack was pressed to his back and he sighed happily, snuggling against his solid frame.  Jack’s arm tucked around his middle and he closed his eyes, unsure of if he wanted to feel Jack press a kiss into his hair or if he actually did.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mean the world to me, Jack.  Honest to God truth, ya know?  Love ya too, I’ve had a hard time sayin’ it and bein’ scared.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go to sleep, Brock.” Jack said quietly. “We’ll talk about this later.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock’s last thought before he fell asleep, feeling safe bundled under the blanket and Jack’s arm holding him tight, was that maybe they could really make it work.  He’d like to not hide his feelings around Jack anymore, and it’d be nice to be with someone he could always count on too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s willing to try.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Our shared secret</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>What starts as an accident becomes much more.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Sharing a bed, Dry humping, Grinding, Coming in pants</p><p>Wednesday: Night<br/>Art by Hydra_Trash_Gal 💙</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
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  <span>Jack blinks as the unconsciousness sleep brings him slides slowly away, recognition coming in again to his room, his bed, and to the boy lying next to him.</span>
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  <span>Brock is asleep, pressed up against him, his right arm and leg thrown casually over Jack’s prone body, his leg hitched up high enough that the inside of his thigh is perfectly pressed against Jack’s morning wood. That arm of his isn’t placed any better either, Jack’s shirt hiked up as Brock’s hand absently pet along his ribs.</span>
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<em>Shit.</em>
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  <span>As little bits of his memory begin coming back, Jack notices that Brock is </span>
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    <span>also</span>
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  <span> in the same early morning predicament as he is and it’s pressed up against his hip. All Jack could do is roll his eyes slowly towards the ceiling and stare blankly up at it.</span>
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  <span>The only reason Brock had slept over was because he showed up so late after another argument with his dad, they’d planned to stay up since it was a weekend but apparently neither of them lasted that long since it was still dark but he clearly could hear birds singing outside. </span>
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  <span>They’d spent a good chunk of last night playing video games together, mostly too involved to talk.  Gaming was a good distraction Jack always offered first to get Brock out of his head after the home stuff, eating junk food was also a close choice behind.  Mostly Brock liked familiar things; the games, Jack existing closeby and making cracks at his skill level with his character controls and the process of sneaking downstairs for cans of pop, a couple bags of chips and hastily made chicken sandwiches from leftovers, or if Brock was lucky because Jack knew it was his favorite, there was meatloaf.  When they would get bored of it, they’d fire up Jack’s laptop, change into sweats and watch movies together on his bed.</span>
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  <span>The whole situation was such a common occurrence that Jack was sure his mother knew by now when Brock showed up and when he didn’t, especially since he only came in through his bedroom window via the tree outside on the front lawn but food was always disappearing.</span>
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  <span>This time Jack doesn’t remember either of them falling asleep, he really doesn’t.  Usually Brock falls asleep, cocooned in a blanket nest and Jack likes that way the best because then he knows his best friend’s let go of his family drama enough to get a good night’s sleep over it. But lo and behold, there’s some level of consciousness since Jack’s laptop is now on the night table instead of still in bed with them/ There’s something nice about this, that Brock’s here and it’s always a nice thing but today it just brings him a feeling he can’t quite pinpoint. Well, besides the boner pressing against him, that’s just something else entirely.</span>
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  <span>As Jack continues to ponder to himself, Brock shifts in his sleep, his thigh pressing into Jack’s dick and rubbing him through his sweats at the same time that his own erection slides gently up and down Jack’s hip. Had Brock been in almost any other position, his movements would have been innocent, sleepily shuffling about because of all the energy he had; but in their current predicament, Jack on his back with Brock draped partially over him making contact in all the right places, it is positively torturous and clearly something Brock’s probably liking even if he doesn’t know he’s doing it.</span>
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  <span>Jack inhales sharply, desire coursing through him, even if he’s unsure what to do. If he moves now, he’ll definitely end up waking Brock and that’ll be uncomfortable and awkward for the both of them.  Maybe he can wait it out until Brock rolls over and it can be something they never have to speak about, and Brock never has to know he did anything like this. Yeah. Jack can do that; as long as Brock doesn’t-</span>
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  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
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  <span>Brock moves again. This time he’s pushing more insistently into Jack’s hip, a barely heard whine escapes his lips as he tilts his head and lips press against the underside of Jack’s chin. Brock’s inner thigh presses more firmly too and all Jack can do is lay there with his eternal suffering as Brock ‘s hips work a bit harder to chase that friction.</span>
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  <span>Jack is losing it. He’s only got so much resistance and being that it’s <em>Brock</em>, this is much worse for him.  All his will power whittles away with each shift of Brock rutting against his side, the arm across Jack’s chest moving blindly before he’s gripping Jack’s opposite shoulder for what he assumes is a better angle.</span>
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  <span>Jack can’t help himself; he knows he’s a decent person but he’s no angel. He holds Brock’s leg where it’s rubbing into his now aching cock and presses down, increasing the pressure, allowing himself to subtly thrust back against Brock’s thigh.</span>
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  <span>They’re both breathing hard now, Brock’s eyes still closed as he rests his head against Jack’s shoulder.</span>
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  <span>“Fuck.” Jack grunts out, unable to stay silent anymore as their bodies find a tolerable rhythm to work with.</span>
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  <span>At the sound of his exclamation, Jack sees from the corner of his eye that Brock has raised his head up, and he feels the stutter in their movements as his friend falters.</span>
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  <span>Jack turns to him and their eyes meet. He knows he’s probably flushed and pathetic, but he sobers a little to the terrified expression across Brock’s face, his brows shooting upwards.  </span>
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  <span>“Come on, Brock.  Don’t stop.” Jack croons, using one of his hands to grip Brock’s arm where it still lies across Jack’s bared chest, his shirt sliding upwards a bit more. “It’s okay. You’re okay, nothing’s wrong.” He insists, using his words to soothe the fear that has clouded Brock’s beautiful face, nodding him to keep going.</span>
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  <span>At Jack’s gentle coaxing, relief floods Brock’s features, followed quickly by that desire he obviously was trying to push away, finding his rhythm again, his conscious efforts making Jack groan.</span>
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  <span>Quickly they become one again, Brock pressed close and tight to him, his fingers digging hard into Jack’s opposite shoulder as they both chase the friction between them, grinding together closer and closer to the edge.</span>
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  <span>“Shit. Jack, I think m’gonna- ” Brock groans out.</span>
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  <span>“Fuck, yeah.  Do it, Brock.” Jack whispers to him, tilting his head to push against Brock’s in hopeful affection. And then louder. “I wanna hear you cum.”</span>
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  <span>And Brock does, his head pressed against Jack’s jaw as his body spasms against his side, limbs tightening around as he rides out the waves of pleasure against Jack’s hip.</span>
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  <span>The added pressure and the high pitiful whine coming from Brock’s mouth is all that it takes to throw Jack over the edge after him.  His head snaps back and he’s gripping Brock’s thigh where it’s pressed against him, aware of how much he’s most likely bruising skin. </span>
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  <span>“<em>Brock</em>.” Jack groans, both hands now on Brock’s leg as he grinds into it, cumming hard in his sweats and it’s then that he realizes he doesn’t even have underwear on, the stain already darkening against the grey.</span>
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  <span>Eventually, their movements slow as they gradually come back to themselves, both of them spent and panting raggedly, no words passed between them. Neither of them knew what to say, and Brock eventually pulled himself away from Jack’s side, both of them avoiding eye contact, and they laid out side-by-side staring up at the ceiling.</span>
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  <span>Jack immediately misses Brock’s touch, but he’s certain that this was just a chance thing they did; an amazing mistake that he will remember when he’s alone at night, but which he and Brock will never speak of again. The weight of this realization does something in Jack’s chest that hurts a lot and he hates it. He’s pined for Brock in a way he didn’t think was possible considering he’s never felt like this about another being, ever.  He just wants to be his everything and while maybe it’s a little stupid, he can’t help himself.  It’s just how he feels.</span>
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  <span>The sick sadness is seeping through Jack’s entire body, and there is a prickling feeling trying to get to his eyes, but he doesn’t let it. Maybe Brock won’t hate him, maybe they’ll still get to spend time together and act like none of this happened, even if Brock can’t look him in the eye anymore. Jack can be ok with just being near him.</span>
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  <span>Lost in his internal monologue, Jack doesn’t immediately notice that Brock has shifted up onto one elbow, facing him.</span>
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  <span>“So, uh..” Brock begins, glaring a little at the covers instead of at his face and Jack turns to him. If shit is gonna go down, he will at least look dead on while Brock tells him what a mistake this was.</span>
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  <span>“M’so fuckin’ sorry, Jackie.” Brock says, now looking up at Jack’s closed off expression as he prepares for the worst. Jack’s eyebrows quirk together at Brock’s words, but he stays decisively quiet, letting Brock get it over with. “I feel like an asshole.”</span>
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  <span>Jack knows this is it. Brock will tell him it was a mistake, that he knows how Jack feels because it’s so damn obvious, but he doesn’t feel the same way.  Then he’ll pull himself out of bed because he’ll make some excuse that he’s gotta go and then Brock won’t talk to him for a little while like he always does when he needs time to think. </span>
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  <span>“I can’t believe I was dry humpin’ ya in my sleep, that’s real fucked up.” Brock goes on. “I never meant for things to happen that way.”</span>
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  <span>Jack opened his mouth to say something, but then his brain notes the last bit and he pauses and sits up instead. “Wait, what do you mean <em>that way</em>?” </span>
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  <span>“Jack.” Brock says with a small whine at the end of his voice, Jack knows it’s his way of talking when he doesn’t want to.  “Don’t make me do this crap, it’s fuckin’ obvious how I feel about ya fer awhile now  I’ve wanted to say somethin’ but I was always too scared to bring it up. Plus I mean, shit, look at ya.” Brock waves at him in the space between them while all Jack can do is look back at him dumbly.  “I know it was gettin’ hard to contain my feelin’s, ya know how I am, but the last thing I figured would happen was <em>that</em>.”  Brock casts his eyes back down, smashing his fist down against the bedding in frustration.  </span>
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  <span>There’s a long delay of silence between them and Jack processes each part of what Brock said.</span>
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  <span>“Are you fucking kidding me?” He blurted out in disbelief as the words all slotted into place to finally make sense to him. “Brock, you can easily wake me up like that any time you want.  I’m surprised I haven’t done shit like that whenever I end up spooning you, to be honest.” </span>
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  <span>“Yeah?” Brock looks up at him, a cautious smile across his face. “You serious?”</span>
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  <span>“Of course I am, why would I lie about that?” Jack confirms, reaching out a hand and carefully brushing his thumb across Brock’s cheek. “I know I save you from some things, but I’d never lie to you if I didn’t feel the same way.  It wouldn’t be fair to you.” </span>
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  <span>Jack gave him a small smile in hopes it reassured him, lying back on the bed and staring up at the ceiling again in disbelief. “Shoot, you know how much will power I had before I just couldn’t do it anymore.  You were touching me and holding on for dear life.  It was awesome.  If I knew you were like this all the time, I woulda told you to sleep over a lot more.”</span>
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  <span>“Oh my God, Jack!” Brock punches him in the arm and Jack grins. “What makes ya think I’d give it up to ya all the time?”</span>
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  <span>“Just a hunch, you were pretty into it just pressing yourself against me.” Jack teases, it feels good to be around Brock and not hide things like before.</span>
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  <span>Brock punches him again in the arm this time, and then at his chest.  None of it really hurts and Jack makes a grab at his hands. </span>
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  <span>“Brock..” Jack says warningly, grinning as Brock actively struggled to free himself. “Don’t make me pin you down.”</span>
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  <span>“What if that’s exactly what I’m goin’ fer ‘ere?” Brock asks, giving him a wink that shouldn’t make Jack feel amazing and stupid all at once. </span>
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  <span>“All you have to do is ask, you know I’ll give you anything you like.” Jack replies, honest and absolutely serious despite how lightened they’d been making the mood just a few seconds ago.  He gazed at Brock with unguarded adoration, and let go of hands so he could open his arms out in invitation. </span>
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  <span>Brock doesn’t second guess him, his mood shifting just as quickly as Jack’s and it’s all replaced with earnest affection.  Once they’re lying in each other’s arms, Jack sprawled out again and Brock pressed to his side and head against his shoulder, he allows his eyes to slip closed just to bask for a few wonderful, peaceful seconds. </span>
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  <span>Time silently ticks away and Jack can hear the birds outside as the world wakes up around them.  Eventually he inclines his head to where Brock’s against his shoulder with his eyes closed too and Jack tucks the side of his index finger under Brock’s chin. </span>
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  <span>“Hey, Brock?” Slowly Brock’s eyes open and Jack lingers in staring into them before he smiles like an idiot again because he feels so lucky. “I really want to kiss you.” </span>
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  <span>“Shit Rawls, I know my first move wasn’t exactly with yer permission, but you ain’t gotta ask me fer that.  Yer always welcome to give me those, no matter what’s goin’ on.”</span>
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  <span>Jack nods, feeling a tad nervous now that he’s gotten permission to.  He wants it to be perfect and-</span>
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  <span>“Overthinkin’ again. Stop that and jus do it, dummy.” </span>
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  <span>So he does.</span>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. (i will) Wait By the River</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Life on the farm is repetitive — until Jack meets Brock Rumlow who sends his simple world into a tailspin.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Art by Kalika999</p><p>Title from Wait by the River by Lord Huron</p><p>Warnings: Derogatory Language, Detailed Child Abuse, Farm AU, Teenagers, Horses, Possessiveness, Angst, Fluff  </p><p>If you’d like to skip the scene of abuse it begins at ‘There were a few things that Brock knew would set off Alexander.’ and ends at ‘Brock closed his eyes and tried to think about lying on a blanket with Jack. His escape, his happiness.‘</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
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</div><br/>Jack’s mother always told him to stay away from the Pierce farm. Jack used to sit on the porch after all his choring was done and watch the big trucks going to and from the forbidden farm just five miles away. His father told him it was a slaughter farm and there was dangerous equipment. Jack never second guessed them, he had no reason to.<p>For a few years Jack didn’t even think about the Pierce farm. The cloud of dust trailing behind the trucks was just another part of the background at the sleepy Rollins farm. One his fourteenth birthday his father sold off two milking cows and a pregnant ewe in exchange for a shire deemed unfit for breeding. That summer all downtime was spent teaching himself how to ride. </p><p>Homeschooled due to their remote location, it was a welcome escape from arguing with his younger sister who spent most of her time hanging off his mother’s apron strings. The horse’s name was Orion and he was a gentle giant who tolerated every misstep Jack took. Bit by bit he saved up the money his father could offer during harvest until he had enough for a proper set of reins and a well worn saddle from the farm store during a monthly run. </p><p>It was there that he saw Brock. Of course he didn’t know it was Brock; the olive skinned boy was sulking against the sun faded blue walls of the drug store. The day was mild, the sun forgiving but bright. The sky was bright with no threat of showers and his father was busy going over orders with Mr. Coulson. </p><p>Jack was sitting in the bed of his father’s old Ford pick up, running his hands along the new tack and saddle with pride. He could only hope that Orion hadn’t gotten too used to bareback and the twine makeshift reins. But as he knelt there his eyes kept straying toward the stranger. His shirt was dirty and torn like he had just gotten back from working in the field despite the fact that harvest had just finished. His jeans were worn and maybe a size too small. </p><p>He knew the other kids from the county. Steve Rogers was probably in the general store bugging Bucky Barnes about something. The two were always inseparable despite the miles of distance between them. Acres of corn wasn’t enough to keep them apart. </p><p>Maybe Jack was jealous of that, of the ability to form connections with his peers. Maybe that was what drew him to Brock Rumlow. Or maybe it was just fate. </p><p>He hopped down from the truck, peering through the ship windows between adverts of pesticides and budgeting plans to ensure his father was still where he left him: chewing on the end of a ballpoint pen trying to decide what to order for the upcoming year. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he made his way slowly across the street, kicking the metal bottle cap of a Coke along with him. The clatter of it against the worn asphalt drew the boy’s attention, honey hued eyes with specks of gold were directed on him and Jack felt like he had been thrown from Orion for pulling too hard on the reins. </p><p>“Whatcha want?” </p><p>“Uh… ‘M name’s Jack.” he quickly extended his hand offering it to him. “Jack Rollins.”</p><p>The boy glowered at it, assessing it, before he extended his own hand. It was smaller than Jack’s, warm and surprisingly smooth despite his ragged look. “Brock Rumlow. Er, Pierce I guess.” </p><p>Jack was startled. “Pierce farm?”</p><p>Brock tucked his hand back and grunted. He looked over Jack’s shoulder, like he was looking for something specific before he sighed and focused back on him. “Yeah, what about it?”</p><p>“I just… I didn’t know you lived there. I thought — well, I guess I dunno what I thought.” Jack felt foolish and cleared his throat. “We’re pretty close y’know. A few miles.”</p><p>“Yeah, I guesso.” Brock glared down at his feet and then at Jack. “What do you want from me anyway?”</p><p>The defensiveness caught Jack off guard. He considered fleeing — apparently he was better suited to be around his horse than a person. “Well I just thought I’d say hi. Introduce myself and all that.” Jack was apprehensive about it now. “Sorry if I’m bugging you.”</p><p>Brock huffed out a breath like the apology was a bother within itself. “You ain’t bothering me, Rollins. I just — ” Brock had a face like he had bit into something bitter. “Nothing. Forget it.”</p><p>“Okay…” Jack was bad enough at talking to his peers without the tension of possibly being unwanted. “Well, have you lived around here for long? I’ve never seen you here.”</p><p>“He usually doesn’t let me come but he needed help unhauling so he told me I could come.” Brock looked awfully unhappy about it and Jack couldn’t blame him. Hauling equipment was no fun. “But I’m not supposed to move from here.”</p><p>“Oh.” Jack looked around the street. </p><p>All the way up by the diner he could see Tony lounging at one of the outside tables with gaudy red umbrellas. His dad owned the bank, and, consequently, every farm in the county. But Jack’s run-ins with Tony hadn’t been bad, he was decent enough for being the richest kid around. </p><p>“Yeah.” Brock scuffed the toe of his boot against a crack in the cement. “I saw you got some tack. You got a horse?”</p><p>Jack smiled, tension dissipating a bit at the mention of Orion. “Yeah, I got him two years ago. He’s a shire.”</p><p>“I have a thoroughbred. Her name is Bellezza. Well — she was mom’s but Alexander...uh, my stepdad I guess — he said I could have her.” </p><p>“What color is she?”</p><p>“Chestnut, bit of white around her hooves and on her chest — she’s fast too,” Brock seemed enthusiastic talking about her, the hard glint in his eye fading almost completely. “Yours?”</p><p>“Black, white feathering, white blaze.” </p><p>Jack was proud of the terms he had learned. After he was given Orion had checked out a book from the court house which doubled a pseudo library with a small bookshelf on various subjects. He had studied the horse book regardless of the bone deep exhaustion he had from a long day’s work. </p><p>Brock whistled and Jack’s cheeks flushed a bit. “Pretty fancy talk for a farm boy.” </p><p>“You’re a farm boy too,” Jack reminded him, unsure of if the poke had been malicious or playful. </p><p>Brock frowned a bit at that. “I guess. I wasn’t before though. Not ‘til my mom married him and moved up here.”</p><p>Brock’s eyes fell once more and when he met Jack’s gaze the defensive glint was there again. Jack regretted his reaction — he would have liked to see Brock smile. </p><p>“Well since we’re so close — maybe we could ride together? Now that harvest is done my mom’ll be on me about studying but I’m always done before supper. We could walk in the field? Now the wheat is gone my dad won’t mind.”</p><p>Brock squinted at him, eyes sweeping him up and down. Judging him, calculating, looking for something that Jack… Jack wasn’t sure what it was that he was searching for. </p><p>“I guess.” Brock ran a hand through his hair, which was styled oddly. A proud quiff that Jack would see on the TV for city boys. Maybe Brock had been one, before. “At night. I usually go out and ride at night.”</p><p>“Like after supper?”</p><p>“Sometimes. Some nights I go out late. The moon is bright enough.”</p><p>Jack was absolutely certain that if he didn’t adhere to the ‘until dusk’ rule his mother would tan his hide. (She wouldn’t actually of course, but the threat was still regarded as truth) But riding in the moonlight, beside Brock, sounded appealing. </p><p>“Well maybe tomorrow — we eat supper at five and I usually have to clean up but maybe we could meet in the middle? Start riding at six?”</p><p>Brock searched him again, looking at him like he had just suggested they perform some kind of illegal activity but then, all of a sudden, it cleared. </p><p>“Sure.” Brock shrugged easily like he hadn’t considered it a moment. “I wanna see how big this shire really is.”</p><p>His lips twitched betraying the hint of a smile and Jack was breathless. He didn’t know what he was feeling, much less why this new kid was making him feel it, but it was wild and new and exciting. Faintly he was aware that he was grinning like a fool but it was his first encounter, outside of church with a boy his age. He was always the odd one out, the one who hung back while everyone else took advantage of their brief time together away from the realities of rural farm life. </p><p>“Brock,” a voice called and Brock went rigid, eyes widening in panic the way Orion did when he saw a snake in their path. “Who’s your friend?”</p><p>Jack turned around to face the man, an older gentleman probably a decade older than his father. Fine lines ran across his forehead and around his mouth but he offered a toothy smile. He had a faded ball cap in his hand that he tucked into his back pocket before he held out his hand. </p><p>“Oh I’m Jack Rollins.”</p><p>“Ah, Henry and Loretta’s boy! My have you grown…” the man looked up and down once...and then twice before watery blue eyes finally found Jack’s green ones. “And Frieda? How old is she now?”</p><p>“Alex,” Brock cut in, voice sharp. </p><p>Jack glanced at him but he wouldn’t meet his eyes. He gathered this was Pierce and something about him just felt...off.</p><p>“Uh seven — have we met before?”</p><p>“Years ago, during the drought. I’d bring the water truck over… Wow have you grown.”</p><p>Jack smiled politely. A feeling of unease had settled in his gut and he snuck glances toward Brock. He had his arms folded across his chest and he was no longer leaning and at ease, he was glaring down at the ground as if it had personally wronged him. As far as Alexander went, Jack didn’t know how to feel. But if there was one thing his mother had taught him the importance of, it was politeness. </p><p>“Thanks, sir.”</p><p>“Sir.” Alexander chuckled and turned to face Brock. “You hear that? Genuine southern respect — you could do to learn it.”</p><p>Brock’s face twisted, shoulders drawing up before his entire body went slack as if defeated. “Yeah, you’re right.” Brock glanced up at Jack, head still hanging low, through long dark lashes. “I’m sure he’ll teach me all about it.”</p><p>Jack was about to agree when he heard his father calling for him. “I gotta go,” Jack looked at Brock, hoping that he was still willing to meet him if only to see each other’s horses. “See you later?”</p><p>Brock glanced to Alexander and then back to Jack with a nod. “Yeah, I’ll see you then.”</p><p>•• •• •• ••</p><p>On the ride home his dad asked him about his conversation but Jack was too busy staring out the window and thinking about those honey eyes flecked with gold and trying to figure out what it was about them that made him feel like he had a bunch of butterflies fluttering around his gut.</p><p>Jack hung around the kitchen, impatiently watching his mother frying pork chops in bacon fat and brushing off his little sister’s pleas to go see Orion. </p><p>“You must be pretty hungry to keep on hovering like that.” His mother folded her arms over her chest, turning to face him. It took only a moment for her to realize something was different. “What’s going on Jack?”</p><p>“Nothing.” His palms felt a bit clammy, like he had been caught dead in a lie. “I mean… I made a friend, I think.”</p><p>Frieda turned her attention from her doll at that. “I’m your best friend Jack,” she reminded him, bossy as ever. “Mom says so.”</p><p>“Shut up Frieda.” Jack grumbled and immediately received a warning look from his mother.</p><p>“Be nice. I’m glad to see you spending time with people your own age. Do we know them?”</p><p>“His name is Brock,” Jack could feel the flush creeping up from his collar. “He, uh, he lives with Alexander Pierce at the lame up the road .”</p><p>“Oh.” His mother’s arm fell to her sides and she quickly grabbed the knit dishcloth hanging on the oven handle and began to rub the already clean counter. “Well, that’s interesting. I didn’t know he had a son.”</p><p>“Well I guess he married his mom.”</p><p>“Well she passed last spring, I heard.” His mother glanced at him. “I didn’t know she had a child.”</p><p>Jack took a moment to digest that unexpected information before he shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah. He seemed...nice enough.”</p><p>His mother offered a tight lipped smile. “Well, you know we don’t want you there.”</p><p>Jack’s brows furrowed at that. “I’m not a kid anymore, mom. I’m not gonna hurt myself on farm equipment. I run all the equipment here!”</p><p>“You heard me Jack Rollins. He can visit you here.” She turned around to face him, hands on her hips in a nonsense stance. “But I don’t want you on that farm. Do you understand me?”</p><p>Jack knew a lost fight when he saw it and when it came to his mother’s will, it was pointless to argue. “Yes ma’am.”</p><p>The stern looked softened a bit and she pursued her lips, green eyes finding his. “I know it seems silly Jack, but it’s because I love you. Now go get your dad for supper.”</p><p>•• •• •• ••</p><p>Jack wasn’t sure what he expected when he saw Brock but as he rounded the curve, he saw him there. </p><p>He looked...good sitting on the mare and she was every bit as pretty as he had said. And, well...so was Brock, if Jack was to be honest. He seemed proud, sitting in the saddle, movements graceful. </p><p>“Y’know why you’re bouncing around like that?”</p><p>Orion slowed, nickering a bit uneasily as he looked at the new horse. She didn’t seem very fazed however — just like her rider. “Hi.” Jack said stupidly, after staring at Brock for too long.</p><p>He didn’t know why he was reacting like this, his usual shyness had peaked to a level he didn’t understand. </p><p>“I asked if you know why you’re bouncing around like that.” Brock repeated, clearly past the point of greetings. </p><p>Jack glanced down at Orion who pawed at the dirt, shifting from side to a bit. Bellezza watched him, ear flicking away a fly that dared fly too close. </p><p>“I guess I don’t.”</p><p>“You’re out of sync with him.” Brock nodded at Orion. “He probably wasn’t a riding horse when you got him.”</p><p>“No,” Jack admitted. “He pulled the plows at the Sitwell place but I guess he decided to finally buy one for his tractor.”</p><p>“You did a pretty good job breaking him in. My mom worked a stable,” Brock informed him. “She used to help break in wild horses.”</p><p>Sometimes Jack forgot there was a world beyond his limited scope and it always fascinated him to hear about what he doubted he’d ever see. “Was your horse wild?”</p><p>“Nope,” Brock was still looking at Orion, his gold flecked eyes narrowed a bit in concentration. “She was a gift when my mom moved out here from the owners. She’s got papers and everything.”</p><p>Jack’s stomach twisted a bit in pity as he remembered what his mother had said. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to extend condolences or not when Brock hadn’t even told him she was dead. </p><p>“Well she sure is something.” </p><p>“You gotta get in sync with him,” Brock reminded him. “So you gotta bond with him more.”</p><p>“I try to ride him when I can, but I gotta lotta choring to do.” Jack smacked a mosquito from the back of his neck and scrubbed the smear of blood onto his pants. “He doesn’t throw me much anymore.”</p><p>Brock laughed, a nice smooth sound that Jack found he really liked. “Well, I guess that’s something.”</p><p>Jack was suddenly a bit uncertain about his progress. </p><p>“Let’s go in the field,” Brock decided abruptly. “I'd love to see you try and canter. You’ll probably bounce right off.”</p><p>Jack’s cheeks flushed, embarrassed but not in an unpleasant way. He wasn’t sure the way he was feeling made sense, he couldn’t make heads or tails of it. “Sure.”</p><p>The straw bales were easy to navigate, golden rolls that were very near Brock’s eye color. Despite Brock’s teasing he didn’t increase the pace of their walk. It was an easy trot, quiet save for the buzz of locusts and a nighttime trill of birds as they settled for the evening. The sky was painted a brilliant array of orange and reds as the sun began to sink down behind navy hued mountains. The heat had relented a bit with the setting sun, a cool breeze staving away any sweat. </p><p>The gentle thuds of the horses hooves made the silence easy, an occasional jingle of tack cutting through the quiet without shattering it completely. Tension that Jack didn’t know he was carrying vanished. </p><p>“My mom is dead.” </p><p>Jack turned his head toward Brock who was still looking ahead fixedly. Jack wet his lips and took a hand off the reins to run his fingers through his hair, a nervous habit he’d had since he was a kid and the reason he could never get away with even white lies. </p><p>“I’m sorry.” </p><p>“She had cancer,” Brock shrugged. “It happened kinda fast though. Had trouble breathin’ and she had it everywhere.”</p><p>Jack had an uncle who had passed but he didn't know him well. All he knew was that it was the first time he saw his father cry. </p><p>“That sounds awful.” Jack wasn’t good at comforting people, he hadn’t had much practice. </p><p>“It is what it is.” Brock sounded a bit grumpy now. “It’s probably dumb of me to even be telling you about this.”</p><p>“It’s not dumb. It probably helps to talk about things.” He really wished he was better at this, that he has more practice. “I bet that was really hard to go through.”</p><p>Brock scoffed. “It is what it is.” </p><p>Orion seemed less wary of Bellezza and Jack was desperate to return to their previous easy going conversation. “What does her name mean?”</p><p>“Bellezza? It means beauty in Italian.” Brock glanced at him. “She named her when she was just a filly. She was there when she was born too.”</p><p>“It’s a good name. Suits her.” Jack was just happy to keep Brock talking about less somber things. </p><p>“She named most of the horses at the stable, she had a real knack for it.” </p><p>It didn’t take much to deduce Brock was very attached to the stables, and his deceased mother, despite his casualness. Jack wanted to play into that, thirsty to know more about this boy who had somehow sent his world off kilter already. </p><p>“Was she the one who taught you to ride?”</p><p>“Yup. In the summers a lotta of people boarding their horses took them back so she did riding lessons. I helped her too, teaching the little kids how to saddle up their horses right.”</p><p>“Did I do okay?” Jack asked with a nervous laugh. “I learned it from a library book.”</p><p>“You should have a saddle pad.” Brock was quick to respond so Jack figured he was waiting for that exact question. “It’ll keep your saddle cleaner.”</p><p>The book hadn’t even mentioned that. Jack nodded dumbly as they approached the thin barrier of dogwoods. “There’s a creek back there,” Jack nodded toward the thicket. “I usually water Orion here.” </p><p>“Okay, lets go.” Brock whoaed Bellezza to a stop and Jack did the same, though he was a bit further ahead. </p><p>Brock got down from the saddle, clearly intending to lead Belleza though. Orion just trampled on through usually and he seemed confused, taking a tentative step forward before retreating the same step. “She isn’t as big as yours,” Brock reminded him before he graced him with a wink that sent Jack’s pulse rabbiting. </p><p>“Yeah.” Jack slipped down himself, taking Orion reins. </p><p>He wished he had a better response but Brock was already pushing his way through, carefully parting the branches for Bellezza to go through. Jack followed along, a funny feeling telling him that following Brock was going to become a common occurrence. It was clear he had taken the role of leader between them, the same that the other kids followed around Rogers. Jack had always envied it, quietly of course because he didn’t have the boldness to address it outright and he was usually too busy to bother. The dogwoods gave way to a secret space that Jack had spent many hot summer evenings. It wasn’t anything grand, a long thin beach of pebbles smoothed by the steady stream of the creek. There was a fallen red oak lying across the creek, more driftwood now than a tree, but it was good tether for Orion who liked to stand in the water while Jack cooled down. </p><p>The water itself was clear and cold, flowing down from the mountains. The bed of it was mostly stones instead of mud. Brock stared at it for a moment, at the sky reflecting on the glistening surface. “I know it’s not much,” Jack began wondering if maybe he made a big mistake. </p><p>“It’s nice,” Brock countered. “There isn’t anywhere to swim on Pierce’s property.” </p><p>“Well, it’s not super deep but my sister always begs me to take her.” Jack shouldn’t have been so happy to have Brock’s approval -- it was a strange feeling he wasn’t used to and he wasn’t sure it was normal. </p><p>Jack toed off his sneakers and shucked off his socks before he stepped into the cool water. It wasn’t cold unlike the more popular swimming holes that were in the shade. The sun warmed the water just enough to be refreshing. He stooped down to roll up his pant legs before he walked into deep enough that the water was lapping at his calves, tethering him. Orion nickered and lipped at the water before beginning to drink. Jack knew that soon he would be rolling around in the water. Freida was delighted by it and Jack had to admit it was pretty funny to see a nearly two thousand pound horse acting like a puppy. </p><p>Bellezza didn’t seem too interested in going in the water and Brock didn’t move to tether her, instead kneeling down to untie his shoes. Jack didn’t mean to watch him, didn’t intend for his eyes to wander to Brock’s butt and the way his well worn blue jeans hugged every curve. He didn’t know he even wanted to look at him that way but once he did, he was transfixed. Then the hem of his dark blue tee crept up his back and Jack caught a flash of dark purple rimmed by a waxy yellow color. </p><p>Brock stood up, clearly unaware that his shirt had slipped up and glanced back at him. Jack was too shocked to even be embarrassed to be caught staring. </p><p>“Bellezza doesn’t like water much.” Brock said, kicking off his shoes. “Clearly your horse does. Y’know you never told me his name.” </p><p>“Oh,” Jack kicked himself out of his stupor. “Orion.” </p><p>“Orion,” Brock echoed stepping into the water. “That sounds nice. I like it.”</p><p>“Thanks.” Jack ran his fingers through his hair. </p><p>He knew what a bruise looked like, he got plenty around the farm. But never like that. Jack wasn’t sure if he should say something. He’d look like a weirdo for staring. But… There was something about Brock that had captivated him and the idea of him being hurt didn’t sit right. </p><p>“What happened to your back?” Jack nodded toward it, aiming for casual. </p><p>The flush of heat on Brock’s cheek vanished suddenly, his hazel eyes widening in shock. “It-it’s nothin’,” Brock grabbed the hem of his shirt, tugging it down instantly. “Mind your own business.” </p><p>“Sorry,” Jack said immediately. “I didn’t mean… I’m sorry.” </p><p>“‘S okay.” Brock’s voice was a bit huskier than usual. “I, uh, I piss him off sometimes. You get it.” </p><p>Jack blinked in astonishment. It was one thing thinking that maybe someone had hurt Brock but it was another to know he had. </p><p>“No, no I don’t.” Jack’s voice had a hard edge to it. “It's not okay to be hit.” </p><p>Brock looked physically uncomfortable, his arms crossed over his chest. He wouldn’t look at Jack who began to worry that maybe he had pushed too hard and now Brock wouldn’t want to spend time with him. </p><p>“It is what it is,” Brock said, finally meeting his eyes. </p><p>•• •• •• ••</p><p>Evenings with Brock became routine and occasionally Frieda came along, pestering them both while they sat at the beach edge and watched the water. </p><p>Jack tried to forget about -- he knew that Brock wanted him to -- but he couldn’t. Especially on those evenings he came with red finger marks around his forearms which would darken to smudges of purple and blue the next day. Jack didn’t know what to do. </p><p>They were sitting on the shore, letting the water run over their toes as they watched the sun sinking down from a pink sky. The air smelled like rain but for now everything was clear. Sitting close to one another wasn’t a big deal anymore. Jack’s pulse no longer hitched and rabbited with excitement and he didn’t spend the entire time convincing himself it was just an accident and not to think too much into it. Slowly he noticed that Brock was applying a bit more weight until he was fully leaning against him. It became just another part of their outings. Brock resting his head on Jack’s arm, watching dusk and stars dot the expanse of the late evening sky. </p><p>“I wish I didn’t have to go.” Brock said as night truly began to close around them and Jack knew he was cutting his curfew close. </p><p>His parents didn’t seem to mind though, save for reminding him that come spring he wouldn’t have the time to be galavanting around with friends. Jack didn’t want to think about spring though, he was just focused on the next time he’d see Brock. </p><p>“I wish you didn’t have to go either.” Jack admitted. </p><p>Brock’s hand brushed Jack’s, fingers running along his knuckles. Jack carefully loosened his hand, hoping that it was intentional. Brock’s fingers nudged his fingers from their loosened curl into an opened hand. Having their palms touch was a thrilling first that Jack thought he’d never forget. And when their fingers knotted together the next night, he knew he wouldn’t. </p><p>Departing got harder, waiting as long as they possibly could even when it got too cold to go into the creek. They would lay out a blanket and sit in the field looking at the stars. Brock talked about his mother a lot, telling him about her achievements with pride. Sometimes Brock would go quiet after, eyes shining with unshed tears. Jack found that squeezing his hand helped. They went from sitting beside each other, their sides pressed together, to lying down, Brock resting his head on Jack’s chest, fingers drawing idle doodles on his stomach. </p><p>Even Orion and Bellezza got closer. They would lie a few feet away, Orion resting his head across Bellezza protectively. </p><p>Their ‘I love you’ came during a particularly chilly August night. It was said with a laugh because Brock had made a crack about Jack being antisocial but Brock had said it back, completely serious. Then, they kissed. It was messy, two inexperienced boys trying to replicate what they had only seen on TV. But it was still sweet because it was their first. When they pulled apart, Brock rested his forehead against his. </p><p>“I wish we could stay here forever.” </p><p>“I think my dad might get mad if we lived in his wheat fields.” </p><p>Brock hummed. “Well, fine. We’ll buy it.” </p><p>“I’m pretty sure the Starks still own it.” </p><p>Brock made a low noise of annoyance. “Help me out here, Rollins.” </p><p>“We could live in the woods,” Jack mused. “Build a treehouse.”</p><p>“And a stable,” Brock reminded him, nodding toward the two horses snuffling at the ground for bits of grass that had survived the frost. </p><p>Jack bobbed his head in agreement. Some nights Brock taught Jack a bit more about riding, explaining the importance of proper bonding which Brock seemed impressed Jack had achieved. But what they had was fragile and it came with an expiration day. Jack did his best not to think about it, relishing in their dreams of forever. </p><p>But, for every perfect night they shared, they had the imperfect ones. The ones where Brock had an eye swollen shut or marks around his neck. The ones where Brock held his side and did his damnedest not to cry. Jack never knew what to say because he had said it all and Brock had only one thing to say about it. </p><p>“It is what it is.” </p><p>“But it’s not okay.” Jack insisted, well aware he sounded like an old record. “He can’t do that.”</p><p>“Yeah well, who’s gonna stop him? If I fight back he gets worse.” Brock shrugged with a grimace of pain that cut right to Jack’s heart. “Four more years and I’m gonna get as far away as I can.” </p><p>“You shouldn’t have to wait that long,” Jack insisted. </p><p>It infuriated him beyond words. He wanted to kill Pierce, he wanted to make him suffer just as badly as Brock had. “Just hold my hand and pretend everything is okay,” Brock asked, nudging him with a good attempt at an easy going smile. “C’mon.” </p><p>And what else was Jack supposed to do? </p><p>•• •• •• •• </p><p>There were a few things that Brock knew would set off Alexander. </p><p>When the vendor shorted him during pickups, when Brock got mouthy and rude, or when bills were due he couldn’t pay. Brock didn’t know what his mother saw in him. From the start he hadn’t liked Brock, constantly complaining about him to her. She had begged him to keep the peace after he slapped him across the face at the dinner table for refusing to ask permission to sit down at the table with them after he got mouthy. His mother never heard about what really happened, about the things that Pierce really said that made him snap. But she was a buffer. Brock stuck as close as he could for his own safe keeping but now she was gone. </p><p>Brock had hoped her passing would mend their relationship in some way, bring them together and make being together just a bit more bearable. It did the opposite however. It just made him meaner. He was called a pussy for crying at his mother’s funeral and that sealed his fate. But Brock wasn’t weak. He had his mother’s strength and he held that close to his heart. He didn’t doubt that Alexander had loved her but he also knew better than to think that being her son meant anything to him. He was there because there was nowhere else to go and he needed the tax write off. </p><p>Jack made his miserable existence better. He was an escape at first but then, as he got to know the quiet farm boy, he became more. Now, though, Jack was his world. He was his future, a reminder that the beatings and the insults were temporary. It reminded him that he didn’t deserve this. Before Jack, he was ashamed of every mark left on his skin. Any previous certainty that raising your hand to a kid was wrong was replaced by knowing what it felt like to be punched in the stomach by a grown man. When he was dragged into town he did everything he could to hide them, like they were evidence of his wrongdoings. </p><p>Now Brock was counting down the days until his escape. He had to appreciate the fact that despite the treatment inflicted on him, he treated the old coonhound he had and Bellezza well. He never would let them go without and he never denied Brock access to the horse because his mother had written him a letter in the hospital telling him to take care of her. So maybe there was an ounce of decency inside of him. It just wasn’t spent on Brock. </p><p>The afternoon was unusually tense, even though Brock’s chores weren’t anywhere near him. He could hear him cussing at his tractor and Brock wasn’t an idiot. He knew that all that anger would find an outlet eventually and that would be him. He leaned against the fence, watching the pigs all fight towards the trough. Adjusting to the fact that all the animals on the farm were going to inevitably end up on his plate and shipped out had taken a while. But now it was easy to see them as food instead of animals. He hopped the fence, thinking about what he and Jack would do tonight, heading toward the barn to double check water levels. He dragged the hose in, topping off the water while trying to prepare himself to keep his mouth shut regardless of what Pierce said to him. </p><p>But, eventually, he ran out of things to do and, regretfully headed toward the squat house. Every touch his mother had once had on the house was gone now, cluttered the only way a single farmer could. Odds and ends were stacked up in the corners, mail in a pile because Brock hadn’t sorted through it yet. He didn’t mind bill days though, except for the days it came up short. Pierce tended to be in a better mood. </p><p>But tonight, that didn’t matter. They ate cold cut sandwiches on Thursdays which was easy enough to do. Usually he made Pierce’s sandwiches and left them in the fridge before hiding upstairs. Sometimes staying out of sight was enough to avoid his wrath. But Pierce was already inside, a beer in hand with three more cluttering the little TV dinner stand beside the worn armchair he spent most of his evening in. </p><p>“Get your ass over here.” Pierce snapped as soon as the door clicked shut.</p><p>Brock looked skyword mouthing ‘fuck’. He had tried to keep closing the door quietly, thinking that maybe if he played his cards right he would be able to get upstairs without getting spotted. It wasn’t a guarantee that Pierce wouldn’t go hunting for him but it would at least delay the inevitable. </p><p>Despite the countless times this exact exchange had occurred dread still tied his stomach into knots. His mouth went dry and the fear he hated so much made his feet heavy. Pierce watched him watery blue eyes, tracking every step with his usual scowl. </p><p>“Yes?” Brock tentatively asked because Pierce didn’t like ‘yeah’. </p><p>“I went into the barn and what do I find lying out?” He reached down to the floor and Brock’s eyes flickered to the item he hadn’t noticed. </p><p>It was the extension cord they used for the big box fans during hot days. Brock had stored the fans all away at this point, the fans no longer needed during the cool early October days. </p><p>“I must’ve missed it,” Brock wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to reach for it yet. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Sorry,” Pierce spit, like the apology itself was insult. “You’re always fucking sorry, ain’t you boy? I’ve had it, you hear? I’m sick of all your half assed jobs lately because you wanna run off and see that faggot up the road.”</p><p>Brock’s stomach plummeted, protests welling up in his chest as he was torn between adamantly denying it and standing up for Jack. But the word itself was the kinda blow that knocked away his breath. Pierce sneered at him, his silence confirmation enough. </p><p>“Yeah you think I didn’t know? I knew the fucking day you met him. It’s disgusting, is what it is. If your mother knew what her son was — ”</p><p>“Shut the fuck up.” Brock’s hands were trembling, his breathing erratic. “You don’t know anything about her.”</p><p>Pierce stood in one motion, crowding him against the living room wall. Brock second guessed his reaction well aware that it would worsen whatever happened next. </p><p>“You think you’re fucking grown, is that it boy?” Pierce stood over him, a typical power move that was used only to further intimidate Brock.</p><p>The question seemed rhetorical so Brock figured his best bet was to just keep his mouth shut. Brock looked down, afraid that when he looked at him he would be hit. Pierce’s hand fisted the front of his shirt tugging him forwards so he could slam Brock back against the wall. Black spots danced in his vision for a moment as the sharp pain of contact throbbed. </p><p>“I asked you a question,” Pierce’s voice was low, seemingly controlled though the hold he had on Brock’s shirt hadn’t lessened. “You better look at me, boy.”</p><p>Slowly Brock shifted his sight from the well worn brown carpet until he glimpsed Pierce’s jaw and that was enough. Pierce’s free hand careened against his jaw, slamming his teeth against each other and causing his head to bounce against the wall again. Brock grunted in pain, fighting the losing battle not to cry. He was never sure what it was that brought the onslaught of tears: the pain or knowing that the one adult in his life hated him this much.</p><p>“Take your shirt off.” Pierce let go of his shirt suddenly, stepping back to give him space. </p><p>Brock’s hands trembled as he did so. If he didn’t or stalled in doing it Pierce would just tear it off and Brock was running low on shirts as is. Brock knew his torso was already adorned in marks in various stages of healing as he crossed his arms across his chest. It escaped him how something that happened so often could still scare him like this. He should have been used to it, he shouldn’t have been fighting back tears at the idea of it.</p><p>But here he was, trying to breathe through the searing sensation in this throat as sobs built in his chest. He reminded himself he had plenty of time to cry when he was alone because facing this with dry eyes left him at least a bit of dignity. Brock wondered how long Pierce had waited to announce that Brock’s secret was no longer that.</p><p>But Pierce wasn’t reaching for his belt, he was picking up the extension cord instead. The first tear escaped and with it did all of Brock’s restraint as he tripped over his apologies and begs for Pierce not to. He knew that it would hurt worse than a belt and before now that hurt worse than anything else. </p><p>In response Pierce struck him with a half closed fist across the jaw that sent him staggering back in drunken strides. Brock closed his eyes and tried to think about lying on a blanket with Jack. His escape, his happiness.</p><p>•• •• •• ••</p><p>It was the first night that Brock hadn’t shown up. </p><p>Jack waited because sometimes Brock came late, sitting on their blanket in their spot, trying not to worry and failing miserably. Brock hadn’t given Jack his number, he didn’t want Pierce to find out, so Jack hoped his worry was for nothing. But as the sun set lower and lower and the temperature grew chilly, a bad feeling settled in his gut.</p><p>Eventually he ran out of time and with a heavy heart, he began to pack up. When he reached the road, he stood there a moment. What if something really bad had happened? </p><p>If it had then had wasted precious time warring with himself on whether or not to say something. The fact of it was that he should have said something sooner, even if Brock hated him forever for it. Even if it meant that Brock wouldn’t live beside him and maybe not even in the same county. But Brock’s safety was more important than all of that and he’d known that from the start. Brock had been good at settling him, at reassuring him that everything was mostly okay even though Jack knew in his heart that it wasn’t.</p><p>But now Jack was making this choice by himself, for the good of Brock even if he hated him forever for it.</p><p>At home his parents were both watching the late evening news and his mother looked at him with her usual casual scorning but that look quickly turned to worry. “Jack, what’s wrong?”</p><p>Some other time he’d wonder how she read him so quickly but tonight he was just grateful she did. </p><p>“Something’s wrong. I think that Pierce mighta really hurt Brock. He didn’t show up tonight.”</p><p>His parents exchanged looks, a quick silent conversation. “Alright, what makes you think that?”</p><p>“Pierce hits him. A lot. Sometimes he hurts him pretty bad but he always comes to meet me.” Jack’s heart began to pound as worry began to truly take over. “I-I… He didn’t want me to tell but…”</p><p>“It’s okay,” his mother made her way to him, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Your father is gonna make a call.”</p><p>“You’re gonna call him?”</p><p>“No,” his father already had the phone off the hook. “I’m calling Joe.”</p><p>Joseph was Steve’s dad and the acting Sheriff in town. The burden of carrying a secret far too long was lifted and he melted into a hug from his mother. Of course his heart was still pounding and anxiety had him picturing Brock, his Brock, lying on the floor of some ratty trailer dead. Jack would never forgive himself, he decided. He couldn’t because it was his fault for not telling sooner.</p><p>His father’s conversation was hushed and quick. Then he was grabbing the keys to his truck. “I wanna come.”</p><p>“You can’t Jack,” he turned to look at him, hand on the doorknob. “You did a job, son. I can’t imagine how hard it must’ve been keeping that yourself.”</p><p>Jack couldn’t accept any praise in the matter, not when he should have been punished in the first place. For an hour and forty torturous minutes Jack sat on the porch swing, praying desperately that Brock would be okay, hoping that he would get to see him again. His mother was at his side offering quiet reassurances they both knew weren’t promises. </p><p>Finally, finally headlights came down the road from Pierce’s. One set turned into the drive and the other kept going. When his father stepped out of the cab alone, Jack felt his entire world shattering. </p><p>“He’s gonna be okay. Rebecca is going to clean him up a bit and give me a call.”</p><p>Jack closed his eyes tightly, thanking whoever it was up there that Brock was alright. “It’s okay Jack. He told me say sorry for missing your meeting.”</p><p>A nervous jittering laughter escaped him and he sprawled back in the swing, weak with relief. He couldn’t bring himself to ask what had happened, it wouldn’t be right to hear it from anyone but Brock when he was ready. </p><p>“I thought he could stay here for a while, until we figure out what else to do.” His father continued, leaning against the porch post. “Is that alright with you Jack?”</p><p>“Yeah-yes,” Jack nodded adamantly. “If-if he wants, I mean.”</p><p>“Already ran it by him. I hope Orion won’t mind sharing a stall for a bit.”</p><p>It was plenty big enough, meant for two shire horses so Jack was sure Bellezza would have adequate room until they could get together enough lumber to build a proper addition. Maybe Jack’s mind was running a little wild but he couldn’t help it. </p><p>Brock was safe. </p><p>•• •• •• ••</p><p>The Rollins’ house was warm. Not only in the physical sense. It’d been a long time since Brock had felt at ease anywhere and even though he still occasionally winced when Mr. Rollins went to hand him things, he was doing better.</p><p>And being with Jack was an unexpected bonus. </p><p>There was a cot in Jack’s little room but it was mostly a storage space because they crammed onto Jack’s twin. Mr. Rollins had come to wake them up for breakfast one Sunday and even though he saw them in the same bed, he didn’t even get mad. </p><p>Sheriff Rogers had assured him that he wouldn’t see Alexander Pierce again and it had eased his fears of him coming back and taking him away from Jack. It was strange how easily he was accepted into the fold, and how quiet and peaceful it was. Jack’s little sister was a bit of a third wheel but it was impossible not to like her, especially with her crooked smile and missing front teeth.</p><p>They still went to their spot, when they got the chance, lying down and watching the stars. Even if they knew that these moments weren’t secretive anymore, the thrill of just being together was enough. Brock liked to lay across Jack’s chest and listen to his heartbeat and feel the vibration of his voice as he made up stories about the constellations. </p><p>“Thank you for saving me,” Brock whispered during a lull in their conversation. </p><p>Jack gave him a squeeze. “Well my mom always taught me to take good care of my stuff.”</p><p>Brock smiled tilting his head up to look at him. “I’m yours?”</p><p>“Mmhm. Unless of course you don’t want to be.”</p><p>Brock hummed thoughtfully and then shook his head. “I want to be yours.”</p><p>“Forever?” Jack asked, time tinged with worry.</p><p>“Obviously, idiot. I’ll be yours as long as you want me.”</p><p>“Then forever,” Jack knit their fingers together. “Forever and ever.”</p><p>“Sounds good to me.”</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. the Sweetest</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It's a dream come true.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings/Tags: Alternate Universe - Merpeople</p>
<p>Thursday: Possessiveness</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Bubbles float around his head, passing his ears and through the soft strands of dark hair as they dash towards the surface.  Jack’s staring as they float by, caught by how beautiful they look, and he can see the reflection of his own face in them down to the green in his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Being a merman, he doesn’t see these bubbles often, mostly large ones, or small dismal ones that weren’t so important to him; human’s bubbles are the best though. Their voices create such big, perfect ones to escape under any depth of water, and away they hurry along, desperate for the surface. Only when it was his turn to hunt, or if there were enemies in their territory that he was able to see these kinds of bubbles.  Boat captains and their crews usually created them while being dragged under, kicking and fighting to the best of their abilities against powerful tails.   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The water really isn’t all that bad. He doesn’t understand why humans dislike it so much.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The elders warned him to stay away from the tiny seaside town that most of the fishing crafts went to, away from human civilization, but Jack had been captivated by the lone man at the docks.  He was never on one of the boats, preferring to only stay towards the dock house and talk to people before he’d disappear off somewhere, only coming back later and peering off again.  The first time he saw him, Jack was in search of a certain type of kelp that grew closer to the beach shore.  The moment he did though, Jack froze in his search, ducking away by some boulders to stare, the waves pushing persistently against his back as if steering him to move in closer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was devastatingly gorgeous.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After that day, Jack would perch himself on a nearby rock and watch his human for hours, noticing everything about his body. How his hair was stylized, how muscular his arms were when he decided to show them off, how handsome he looked especially when he scowled about something not going his way.  Instead of doing any work he was designated to usually do, he’d spend his time watching this man: whether he sat and drank with others, barked orders around to men too scared to talk back to him, or if he was just standing to watch the water and do absolutely nothing. Jack would watch with deep interest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once on the beach, the human had been seen running and he decided to take a break by some rocks for a rest.  Jack snuck in closer to the shore and watched as he soon had fallen asleep against the warm sand, breathing so deep that Jack found it easy to reach his feet as the water lapped away at them. Up close, he could smell him; rich earthy scents he couldn’t pinpoint but did not mind.  If he hadn’t stirred, Jack would’ve curled up next to him while the tide lazily rolled in, nuzzling against his cheek like he’d dreamed of doing since the first day he’d laid eyes on him. </span>
</p>
<p><span>What would it feel like to touch him?</span> <span>Jack always thought. To wrap his tail around that small waist of his, bring him in close and kiss those lips? To whisper how much he loved him, even though he didn’t know his name?</span></p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Brock. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That’s what he called himself. Such a foreign word if anyone was to ask him, but Jack’s tongue played with it nicely.  Let it roll around in his mouth a bit until he had a good grasp of it. <em>His Brock</em>, all his. The others that would sometimes sit with him weren’t as good as Jack. Didn’t know how to take care of him, nothing at all like he knew. They didn’t know how to tell if he was drinking too much for one night, or not eating enough on another. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now it doesn’t matter, because Jack has Brock right where he wants him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dark, almost metallic-looking scales tail wrapped around his Brock, and Jack bites his smile back as his human thrashes. Brock’s hands are gripped around his tail, broken fingernails scraped at the tough scales, eyes looking at him pleadingly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Let me go, </span>
  </em>
  <span>they seem to say.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Why? The water is Jack’s home and he wants to show Brock how much it means to him. Down here, it’s safe. Just below the surface, or in the depths of it, just the two of them. Together.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With the tip of his tail, Jack strokes Brock’s cheek, feeling the soft skin. A shudder runs throughout his body when a flurry of bubbles escape from Brock’s mouth. So stunning, so pretty. This perfect man named Brock. This Brock that is his to keep.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tail curling tighter around his waist, Brock’s eyes flutter shut and Jack presses their lips together. Warmth spreads from his chest, causing his grip to tighten around those muscular arms.  The taste of his lips are incredible, so sweet and delicious, it drives him mad with pride that he is finally <em>his</em>. Jack kisses him again and again, heart beating so fast it feels as if he’s dying.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he finally leans away, Brock’s staring those copper brown eyes his way, finally content to stay, it’s all in his expression and it’s just so perfect it <em>hurts</em>.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, they can be together, like a dream come true.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Happy fuckin' birthday</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Across the way, it was like fate could hear him thinking about what the point was, because Jack Rollins appears, like a blessing from heaven.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings/Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, Drinking, Birthdays, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Big Dick Rollins XD</p>
<p>Friday: Birthday/Smut<br/>Art by Hydra_Trash_Gal 💙</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><br/><p>
  <span>Brock leans against the wall, nursing his beer to his chest. He doesn’t want to get fucked up tonight. In fact, after last week and the thing with Ward, he’s not sure he should.  He was stupid and shitfaced and they almost had sex in one of the bathrooms.  In his haze he knew the guy wasn’t as drunk as he was and Brock wasn’t really feeling it, fate being his saving grace as he managed to stumble out into a crowd since he’s not sure what would have happened if that never occured.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Actually he does know, it’s why he doesn’t know why he’s here at another party again so soon after, especially with a beer in hand.  It’s not that he’s afraid of another Grant situation, after telling Nat and Bucky about him, they’re kind of watching him without him knowing a lot of the time.  They both lurk and skulk about like assassin spies or some shit and it feels surreal, but he knows they mean well and hell, at least they’re not obvious about it. Brock’s extremely grateful his dumb ass has friends like that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Across the way, it was like fate could hear him thinking about what the point was, because Jack Rollins appears, like a blessing from heaven.  He knew it was probably the sole reason he showed up when a six pack and his controller would have suited him fine as an alternative. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack was a hell of a lot of tall, dark and handsome.  He’s someone that caught Brock’s eye the first time he went in for football practice, Jack already there next to the field for track all in tight running shorts and an equally fitted tank top talking to coach Coulson while doing quad stretches and it was the day Brock really had a realization he had a thing for long, muscular legs.  Maybe just Jack’s, he’s not sure. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Whatever it was, Brock never interacted much with him except to get help with his English paper because he was failing and if he didn’t get a solid C at least, his dad would kick his ass and that was being generous. He was directed to Jack who helped him out like he was born to do that Shakespeare crap and he went about it in a way that was easy for Brock to ingest. Either way, they got to chatting a little bit and eventually he was invited to a house party hosted by one of his teammates since two of them had birthdays close together and he wanted to celebrate, which Brock may have circled on his calendar..repeatedly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He always assumed the track and field kids were a special breed that only kept to themselves and didn’t branch out to the other athletes except to maybe those weird fencers in the after school program.  It was nice that he was sorely mistaken, or maybe lucky Jack wasn’t all like that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So here he is, and there he is, and Brock can’t fuck this up.  He wants to make a good impression and Jack looks so damn good.  His hair is soft and tousled, pushed back like his hands have been doing it all night, he’s got a little bit of facial hair going on but the most amazing thing is that he’s grinning to someone while they’re talking and it’s very distracting because usually he’s stoic and kept to himself, too serious for his own good.  He’s in a comfortable olive green Henley with the buttons undone that brings out his eyes even from a distance, and dark wash jeans. Brock tries not to openly stare, even if eventually Jack catches him a few times and he does his best to look away and forcefully inject himself into conversation with the person closest to him while internally cringing to himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A few hours pass and he’s thrown his plans out the window, drunk and stumbling into things from time to time. It’s not only him either, most of the partygoers are in the same state, and so is Bucky, out in the kitchen playing beer pong with Thor, Steve and a whole bunch of other players from the wrestling, basketball and football teams.  Natasha doesn’t look like she is when he finally finds her, but she’s parked herself on Barton’s lap on one of the couches and they’re making out like they’re trying to eat each other’s faces off.  It really should look gross and disgusting, but honestly, he’s kind of jealous.  He wants that kinda action for himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Somehow he ends up in the hallway space between the dining room and the way to the stairs where Jack’s lurking and he’s delighted to find him almost as drunk as he is.  It’s almost like taking the prize when they start talking and Jack still looks so happy in front of him. He should really keep himself like that more, all flushed and laughing at Brock’s stupid jokes, his crush may be bigger than Brock realizes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This house is so damn huge, his parents must be drug dealers or somethin’!  Or maybe they’re like the Stark’s?” Brock shouts over the music, following Jack to the kitchen. Jack grabs two more beers, opening them like a gentleman before handing one to Brock. “Is it only three of ‘em in this palace?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I live here too, and some of the other track and field guys.” Jack says simply, taking a long drink from his bottle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What!?” Brock says, almost spitting up his beer all over himself. “That ain’t fair!  Ya got looks, money, yer an athlete, God did I mention ya look fuckin’ <em>good</em>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not my money, it’s like a housing thing for training and stuff.  Hard to explain out here.” Jack explains, rubbing the back of his neck almost like he’s shy and that’s something new.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I like that look on ya.” Brock can’t help admitting, leaning his side against the counter as he takes a sip of beer, eyes locked on Jack. “Always lookin’ moody and shit, this smilin’ and cuteness is doin’ wonders for ya.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cuteness?” Jack raises an eyebrow. He looks terribly amused.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. Like. Adorable, a tall cuddly bear or somethin’ maybe kinda stuff, I think m’drunk..”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack’s eyebrows go up even higher.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey don’t raise them eyebrows at me!” Brock groans, fanning his free hand between them like he can magically shoo them away from off Jack’s forehead. “Ya know what m’gettin’ at.” He pauses a moment, studying his face. “S’hot though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Jack chuckles, even if he looks a little confused, blinking a few times like his vision suddenly tunes out on him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yer eyes, yer eyebrows, yer-  “ He makes a circle shape around Jack’s head. “All this, it’s good yanno?  I like it right now.  I liked it before too but this, this yeah it’s better.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack stares at him so long and hard that Brock starts to feel shy, even with all the alcohol pumping through his veins.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock could never stand still like this for too long so he clears his throat. “So uh, there a lot of parties goin’ on in this house?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack’s deep need to stare and get stuck in his head seems to break and he blinks slowly. “No, not usually.  I don’t really like parties, I was just here because it was a birthday thing for the both of us.  Usually I would have just left and come back later, or something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yers?  Shit, well happy birthday!” Brock offers lamely, he can’t help himself when his eyes roam over the rest of Jack. He stops from licking his lips, but has to bite the inside of his cheek instead. “So..slippin’ away ain’t much a big deal huh?  I guess since you were all loiterin’ around in the hallway and shit like that anyway.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks, and I wasn’t exactly loitering.” Jack says, despite the look on his face saying the opposite.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure.” Brock smirks and winks at him. “Hey, I got an idea.  Can I see yer room?”  He tries to make it sound innocent enough but with Jack staring at him like Brock is prey, Brock wants to seize the opportunity before Jack decides that all this is a bad idea. “Please? M’always interested in how other people’s rooms look compared to mine, since it’s a complete shit hole most of the time.  Plus it gives ya an idea of how other people live, ya know?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack looks him over, as if considering and Brock tries to look as innocent as possible.  It’s the lick of Jack’s lips and the way his throat works just before a curt nod and an ‘okay’ that gets Brock completely excited and he tries not to break out in a triumphant grin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He follows Jack up the stairs to his room. It registers dimly that he should maybe be afraid, that everything could go weirdly ass up and not in a good way, but more of a Ward way.  But then he thinks about how Jack’s been around him, he’s never even touched his shoulder when they were working on his paper, instead he’d tap on his notebook or just call his name.  The more he thought about what Grant did, the more he shouldn’t be surprised at that face that the guy’s just kind of a creep.   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Honestly, if anything, Jack is the one who should be worried. As soon as the door closes, Brock gathers up every ounce of liquid courage he has and pushes Jack’s rather nice and firm body up against the wall, trying to kiss him. Jack lets Brock press their mouths together for a total of a mere second or two before he shoves him away, wiping his mouth. Brock stumbles back with a startled hiccup. His brain lingers on the hasty kiss but when he looks up, Jack’s glaring at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck.  Sorry, Jack. M’sorry real. So, so sorry..” Brock babbles. “I dunno what I was thinkin’, I swear! I can leave and we ain’t gotta talk about it, okay? I mean if ya weren’t against the door, if you jus wanna move I can- “  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Brock, be quiet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock’s eyes go wide, but he follows instruction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t, um..” Jack blinks and stops, like he’s confused, and maybe his head is spinning too like Brock’s is.  “I don’t want you to leave. I just don’t want to- ”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t wanna what?” Brock’s played this game a few times, trying not to fold his arms over his chest. “Look I get it, ya don’t wanna kiss me or whatever, I get it.  Don’t feel like hangin’ around tryin’ to break it down or nothin’ either though if ya don’t mind.  Imma big boy, I jus wanna get goin’ and maybe still ‘ave some time to drown myself in some more alcohol so I pass out and think I hallucinated the whole damn evenin’.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack frowns, discomfort across his face, but there’s a softness in his eyes. “I wasn’t going to say that I didn’t want to kiss you.  I just wanted to say that..” He chews at a small corner of his lip with a pained expression before it melts and he looks almost awkward. “I just- “ He inhaled before releasing it heavily. “I’m not Grant.  I don’t want this to be like that thing I heard about last weekend.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock stares at him a long second, processing every detail the best he can before all he can do is snort. “Yer serious?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Because, clearly he is right then. Brock finds it a mixture of cute and hilarious, maybe a little sweet too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s no way I’d be comparin’ ya to what Ward tried to do versus what we’re doing right now.  He don’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>compare</span>
  </em>
  <span> to ya, that’s ‘ow much he don’t matter and why ya shouldn’t worry.  He’s an asshole, and a creep.  Yer not, yer you, I like you.  I don’t much like ‘im.  If ya flirted with me and we went to the bathroom, I wouldn’t ‘ave fuckin’ left.  Okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, okay.” Jack frowns as he thinks about it. “But..you’re drunk.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jack, newsflash, usually if I’m out at a house party, I’m probably fuckin’ drunk.  Anyway so are you!” Brock exclaims.  “I like that yer tryin’ to be all heroic and all that crap but I </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> wanna get somethin’ goin’ on with you and like I said, I like ya.  I </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to do things..with jus you.  Plus yer the birthday boy, you should celebrate, yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He heaves a breath as Jack stares at him and Brock softens at how innocent this guy looks. It makes him want to be honest so he goes for it. “I really wanna suck yer dick right about now, give ya a good present.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack’s eyebrows shoot up comically and Brock would laugh if he wasn’t dead set on getting what he wanted. His tongue darts out to lick his lips, and his eyes flick up and down Brock’s body in a way that makes him feel hot and prickly while a bout of nervousness overcomes him despite having no plans to back out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on, Jackie..” Brock teases, easing in a little closer. “Please? I’ve been told I’m real fuckin’ good at it.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack laughs, but it’s fond and makes something stir in Brock’s chest. Carefully, he brings his hands up to cradle his Jack’s face, curls his fingers in to brush along the scruff of his jaw just before drawing him in to press their lips together.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We shouldn’t..” Jack mumbles against him, but Brock can feel how hard he is now that he’s so close. He brushes his lips over his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on.  <em>Please</em>?” Brock whispers, glancing up at Jack beneath his lashes. Jack’s eyes stare back, already darkened and while his words are trying to be heroic, his hands are pulling them flush together. Then, he’s kissing him.  It’s all rough and hungry, his brain following large hands gripping at his hips.  He bites Brock’s bottom lip, and Brock almost whimpers. His knees start to feel weak, and one hand falls to Jack’s shoulder, tightening his grip in sheer desperation to keep him close. Jack’s mouth ghosts down Brock’s jaw to nuzzle his neck, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span> it’s so hot and sexy, and absolutely everything Brock’s imagined and more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock slips his hand between their bodies to grab Jack’s dick through his jeans and Jack makes this low, punched-out noise. Brock can’t help but give him a knowing smirk for it. Jack’s teeth scrape against his neck, and Brock squirms his hand inside, panting roughly as his adrenaline kicks up and he needs to get his hand around him, skin to skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack’s hands are soon at his shoulders, guiding him down to his knees gingerly.  He can feel a kind of hesitation to it but Brock looks up at him with a little nod and Jack takes Brock’s chin in one of his big, gorgeous hands. His eyes study every inch of Brock’s face before he gives in completely and lets him go so he can continue.  Brock eagerly undoes Jack’s jeans and shoves them down to his ankles, nosing and mouthing over his boxer briefs until Jack grunts out that he’s a tease.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock can’t help laughing at the compliment, because that’s how he’s going to take it, especially from Jack.  He tugs the fabric of Jack’s underwear down just until he’s staring at the head of his dick. He has to really pause just to stare, because while he felt it and he could see the outline of it, he’s not ready to see that Jack’s real fucking huge all up close and personal.  Brock’s seen some nice dicks in his day, but Jack’s really takes the cake, it’s big and it’s real fucking pretty to look at.  Brock’s never found himself at a loss for words, but the level of quality before his eyes is much too high, it belongs in porn.  His mouth salivates at the mere thought of choking on it and he’s humored by the thought that no matter what happens, he will probably choke on it.   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Holy fuck, this belongs in a goddamn museum.” Brock admits as he peers up.  Jack runs his fingers through Brock’s hair, cheeks pinking softly, mixing with the flush of red from the alcohol, obviously not used to compliments about his monster cock. He looks fucking gorgeous. Jack continues to move his fingers through his hair like Brock is something precious that he owns and it does things to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It only goes on like that until Brock finally gets his mouth on him. Then Jack is a little rough. Brock starts with a kiss to the head, which he lingers at for a stupidly long moment, but he just can’t stop himself when it’s Jack’s dick he’s touching. Quickly he gets it together and sucks him down without any more distractions.  Jack makes a surprised grunt above him and his fingers wind through his hair, tugging and guiding and setting the pace. Brock can feel his throat spasm a few times, and his gag reflex acts up a little, but that only seems to encourage Jack more, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>that’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> something Brock shelves away for a later time. Brock chokes a little, but they get into a rhythm as he fits one hand around the base of Jack’s cock while his other begins working on his own dick.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s like Jack can read him perfectly and he takes over, fucking Brock’s face and he lets him do it, tears reaching the corners of his eyes despite wanting it to keep going. He runs his tongue just under the head and stares up at Jack. He can just picture how he looks all glassy eyed with his lips swollen and stretched, spit smeared at the corners of his mouth and probably off his chin, all the while Jack’s staring down at him like Brock is a gift from God. He makes sure he doesn’t close his eyes, doesn’t want to lose a second of this so he remembers it on nights alone, he twists a firm grip on the base of Jack’s dick while pushing the head against the flat of his tongue. Jack presses his thumb into Brock’s cheek, watching his dick fit into the hollow, apparently too lost to do anything more. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock kisses the head of his cock, licking with slow, revered drags of his tongue until it becomes too much for Jack to bear. He takes Brock by the back of the head and shoves him all the way down. Brock still doesn’t take his eyes off of him, even when tears well up and spill, and Jack runs his fingers sweetly through his hair, combing the sweaty strands off his forehead. He whispers that he’s so fucking good, and Brock finally closes his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m gonna cum, Brock.” He warns him, voice dark and hoarse. Brock just nods eagerly, and Jack lets himself go, cumming down his throat. Brock swallows as fast as he can to accommodate, but some of it slips out of the corners, and dribbles off his chin. Jack collapses against the door when he’s done, pulling Brock up to hold him up with surprising strength after all that, like he’s a child.  There’s an appreciation to it, his legs not getting the memo yet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stares. Brock is still panting and hard, dick pressing urgently against Jack’s thigh. The deep earnestness of Jack’s gaze makes him nervous. He can only imagine how disastrous he must look: tears staining his cheeks, spit and cum streaking down his face. Jack smiles and there’s no warning when he kisses Brock.  He wipes at the mess off his chin with his thumb, which Brock can’t help but suck into his mouth. Makes a noise of appreciation, grateful that Jack looks fond instead of regretful over what they just did.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re amazing. I mean I knew you were, but..I can’t explain it right now while my brain is so fuzzy.” Jack says. Brock’s heart jumps up to his throat. He feels dizzy, drunk under the intensity of Jack’s stare, and he can’t help but whine a little, pressing himself against Jack’s thigh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I finish you off?” Jack whispers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no ya can’t, ain’t allowed.” Brock says sarcastically. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well it’s a good thing it’s my birthday then.  You have no say in it.” Jack nips at Brock’s jaw before pressing a kiss there, then he pushes him over to the bed.  He lays him down, bearing over him on all fours, and Brock can’t help but feel like the luckiest prey alive.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack slips Brock pants down, lifting his hips off the bed. He takes off both their shirts and then moves his mouth over every inch of Brock he can get to, savoring and licking.  There’s an occasional mark sucked in here and there and Brock doesn’t protest. Jack drags his teeth over Brock’s hip bone then back up to his neck, sucking another bruise into the thin skin over this throat while his hand works at Brock’s cock in a slow, languid speed. Brock keeps his hands fisted in Jack’s hair, which is surprisingly soft and silky. His hands are calloused from all the pole vaulting he’s seen him do aside from track, and they feel so rough and yet so amazing on him that Brock is afraid Jack’s going to ruin other men for him forever.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh fuck, Jackie.” Brock groans when Jack’s thumb moves over the head. “Shit, yer gonna make me cum real soon, <em>please</em>- ”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack swallows the rest of Brock’s words with his mouth, kissing the breath out of him as Brock’s orgasm rushes in fast and hard.  He spills into Jack’s hand, hips bucking upwards into his grip.  He falls limp when he’s finished, exhausted and sated and the most content he’s felt in weeks. He closes his eyes, listening to the bed springs shift as Jack climbs off of him to wash his hands. It occurs to him that Jack’s bed is incredibly comfortable, and his sheets are very smooth and soft.  He wonders what it would be like if he slept here, just for one night.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He forces his eyes to open at that thought, can’t let himself drift too deep or he’ll fall asleep in two seconds flat.  A shadow looms over him, and Brock looks up. Jack is holding a damp washcloth in his hand, and Brock’s eyes can't help but close to the warmth of the water, allowing Jack to clean him up. He’s gentle, lifting Brock’s wrists carefully like he’s something fragile, brushing his fingers against the corner of his mouth. Brock opens his eyes, completely thrown by the treatment, and it’s the moment when Jack gives him another kiss. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ya mind if I crash ‘ere?” Brock blurts out, not processing things fully. He squeezes his eyes shut in embarrassment as soon as he says it, feels Jack’s hand cradle his cheek, trail lightly as the backs of his knuckles run along a fresh bruise. When Brock finally gets the balls to open his eyes carefully, Jack’s gaze is incredibly fond, and the apology Brock had to explain his abrupt question fades away, instead he just lays there and stares back. He knows how vulnerable he’s making himself, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t know how to stop himself around Jack, it’s been that way ever since he’s laid eyes on him, they’re just lucky it’s been public spaces they’d been together at until now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah..” Jack says tenderly. “I’d like that a lot, kind of hoped you would.” Brock grins because he can’t help himself and in return Jack presses one last kiss to the top of Brock’s head before climbing into bed behind him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, before I pass out on ya.  Really, happy birthday.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a soft chuckle, and Jack buries in closer to press up against his back giving him a firm squeeze around his middle. “You made it worth being here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’m sure gettin’ yer dick sucked does that fer a guy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack lightly punches him in the ribs in retaliation, but there’s no regrets. Brock feels safe like this, kept close to Jack’s naked frame as the covers are pulled up and over their bodies. He feels warm and happy and before he knows it, he’s completely drifted off to sleep with Jack not far behind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s left feeling good about this, excited for what’s ahead for them.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. just another saturday</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sundays are Brock's day for rest and relaxation, but every other Sunday his husband and son drag him out of bed for the biweekly farmers market. And, at the end of the day, he never can complain.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings: fluff, gratuitous use of designer names, farmers markets, curtain fic. </p>
<p>Beautiful picture set by Kalika999</p>
<p>TJ was created by Steve-Bucky-Stucky and I will forever be grateful for that, so thank you for allowing me to borrow him</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><br/>“It’s farmer’s market day!”<p>Brock was pulled from a deep sleep by the bed bouncing erratically and a very excited voice. He rolled over to bury his face into Jack’s chest, seeking just a few more minutes. Sunday was meant for sleeping in but every other Sunday, they had a different obligation. </p>
<p>It was, as TJ had said (or rather, yelled). Farmer’s market day. </p>
<p>With considerable effort Brock managed to get his eyes open. His husband was already more alert than him, feeding into the energy with a wide smile and nods. Brock was much slower, yawning and rolling over to press his face into the pillow as he tried to stave off the inevitable rising in his future. </p>
<p>It wasn’t that Brock wasn’t excited — he was — but he wasn’t a morning person. Never had been and never would be, but that was why Jack was so perfect for him. Or, one of the many reasons. </p>
<p>“Get up or I’m going to eat your omelet,” Jack whispered in his ear before he placed a rather chaste kiss to his cheek. “Alright Teej, you grab the skillet and I’ll get the eggs.”</p>
<p>“Okay!” TJ sang and soon the sound of pattering feet was retreating into the hallway. </p>
<p>“C’mon,” Jack prodded, peeling back the comforter. “I need your bacon skills.”</p>
<p>Brock complained with a groan and, grudgingly, pulled his body into a technically upright position. The windows behind them had the far too bright sun sending slots of light across the cocobolo floors. Brock glanced at the alarm and heaved another huge sigh. It was the same time as every other farmer’s market day: 7am. Brock thought it should be a crime for any event to begin before noon on a Sunday but the rustic town of Shires Peak, New Hampshire clearly disagreed.</p>
<p>It wasn’t Brock’s first choice of destination after they adopted TJ. He was a Brooklyn boy born and bred even with his Italian roots. Jack came from Long Island, the nice part too. All golf courses, estates and country clubs. Brock had felt incredibly out of place at the Rollins Estate, the lush rolling lawn, the stables and manor. It was a stark difference from the cramped apartment he had lived with his Nonna, two aunts and far too many cousins. </p>
<p>It was a real prince and pauper story but that was old news. </p>
<p>Jack hadn’t wanted TJ to be raised in the far too busy state of New York, constantly reminding Brock of the crime rate and shoddy schools. Brock had resisted as long as he could before TJ was old enough for preschool and Brock saw first hand what huge class sizes could mean for a child with special needs.</p>
<p>So, Jack and Brock had upped and moved. Jack’s parents had bought the house for them as a surprise and while Brock hated to accept take outs the Tudor architecture house with truly stunning brickwork was enough to sway him. It was nestled around red maples and hemlocks on its own private road. It was a kind of privacy that Brock had never known before and space that he had never dreamt possible for their little family. </p>
<p>Brock got up with an unhappy humph, stretching out his limbs. He shuffled to the en-suite, past the double sink with a long hydrophilic mirror and Possini Euro Divina lights that Jack’s mother had insisted upon when she was helping with the interior remodel. Most days Brock stood there in disbelief, looking from the massive frosted glass cube with waterfall and rain shower heads to the drop-in basin nested in marble that fit both Jack and Brock with plenty of room to spare. </p>
<p>But, in his sleepy haze he didn’t have the energy to be blown away by how goddamn lucky he was that he had such a wonderful family. Instead he grumpily brushed his teeth before he found his way down to the kitchen.</p>
<p>TJ was sitting at the peninsula that wrapped around to the wall. </p>
<p>“Sit on your butt, mister.” Brock reminded him as he saw TJ on the stool with his feet tucked beneath him. </p>
<p>“Yay you’re awake! I’ll get the milk for your coffee.”</p>
<p>The kitchen was Jack’s. He had designed his dream and Brock was just happy to enjoy Jack’s cooking. TJ slipped off the stool and scurried to the French door fridge. Jack was already whisking the eggs and looked over his shoulder at Brock. </p>
<p>“Looking alert there, honey.” Jack said teasingly.</p>
<p>Brock grunted. He wasn’t exactly sociable until he had some caffeine in his system. The coffee maker had been a struggle at first. Jack had selected it, like all the equipment in the kitchen, and as homage to his upper class roots he had picked the most ridiculous, most difficult kind possible. It was called a Breville Barista Express Expresso and if you have no idea what that means then you know exactly how Brock felt for the first three months. </p>
<p>Eventually his finagling had won out (he refused to read that stupid manual Jack kept pushing on him or accept his help). And, as much as he hated to admit it, it was the best he’d ever had — or dream of having. </p>
<p>While the milk was frothing and the beans ground, Brock leaned heavily against the counter and closed his eyes. </p>
<p>“We’re gonna have a lemonade and-and do our shopping, right papa?”</p>
<p>“That’s right buddy. Hey, here’s an idea. Why don’t you write our list again? It’s a good letter practice, hm?”</p>
<p>“Yeah! Miss Pepper is gonna be so proud when I tell her.” TJ grinned as he slid down from his stool and vanished toward the staircase. </p>
<p>Jack set aside the bowl and Brock was excited to see tall peaks of fluffy egg whites. Souffle omelettes made by Jack were nothing short of an orgamsic eating experience. Brock constantly reminded Jack that he could be a chef instead of a fiduciary but it was a family business and Jack was set to take over after his father’s eventual retirement. Brock was fairly certain the only way the man would retire would be in a casket though. Jack was humming quietly as he cut up scallions, scraping them off the small bamboo cutting board into the bowl of whipped egg whites and then set on thinly slicing enoki mushrooms. </p>
<p>“Darling,” Jack called teasingly. “Are you going to make the bacon or am I on my own here?”</p>
<p>Brock moved towards the fridge biting back, “You oughta be on your own. This was your idea, after all. Wakin’ me up at the crack of dawn.”</p>
<p>Jack chuckled, turning to face him as he sulked by with the paper wrapped package in hand and a frown on his face. It was hard to remain annoyed when Jack wrapped his long arms around him, pulling him against his chest. “I’ll be sure to tell all our friends how unwilling you were to see them today.” </p>
<p>Brock’s nose scrunched up. “Unfair. I’d love to see them… After two in the afternoon.” </p>
<p>“You and I both know TJ wouldn’t let you sleep in that long.” Jack kissed the curve of his neck, his five o’clock shadow scraping against his skin in the most wonderful of ways. “I appreciate you getting up early though, I know it’s very difficult.” </p>
<p>A smile slipped across Brock’s face as the last bit of annoyance at his awakening finally departed. “If I slept in late, I wouldn’t ever go to sleep.” Brock admitted. “I expect strawberry rhubarb as dessert tonight too.” </p>
<p>“Your wish is my command,” Jack released him and Brock took the cast iron pan from its place hanging over the peninsula. “We should plan a dinner next Sunday. Get some use of the patio before it gets too buggy. Plus Nick says they’ve got some very nice A12s available.” </p>
<p>“Now I know you’re trying to butter me up.” </p>
<p>If there was one thing Brock knew, it was a good steak. That was the one meat that Jack let Brock handle because no one knew their way around a grill quite like him. </p>
<p>“Guilty,” Jack turned back to his dicing. “Johnny really liked the Berkshire pork too, so maybe you can smoke some pork belly?”</p>
<p>Brock hummed in agreement. It was always nice to get together with everyone. Every other Sunday and the stray encounter at the local market was never enough. Plus TJ absolutely adored Johnny. As Brock cooked the bacon, Jack folded the scallions and mushrooms into the eggs and stole some bacon grease before he began to lay the souffle eggs into the pan. TJ came bouncing in with his kitty notebook and his favorite blue glitter gel pen. </p>
<p>“I’m ready!” TJ squawked, climbing onto the stool. “Okay first is lemonade!” </p>
<p>“Of course,” Jack agreed with a nod. “And next, we need strawberries and rhubarb per Daddy’s request.” </p>
<p>“Ooh are you gonna make strawberry rhubarb crisp?” TJ asked excitedly.</p>
<p>“I was thinking about it,” Jack said with a wink. </p>
<p>TJ got busy writing, his tongue sticking out slightly the way it always did when he was concentrating. “Okay!” he cried looking up, his blue gray eyes sparkling with excitement. “What else do we need?”</p>
<p>“Cucumbers,” Jack said, easing up the sides of the omelette after lying thin strips of beaufort cheese on top. </p>
<p>He waited until he got the go ahead from TJ and continued on the list of fresh produce to be picked up at the farmer’s market. Breakfast was a hurried affair, mostly because TJ was, as usual, in a hurry to get to the market and say hello to everyone. </p>
<p>(and the lemonade. You can’t forget the lemonade) </p>
<p>Brock took TJ up to his room, stepping into his bathroom to help him brush his teeth and comb his hair. He was a bundle of energy, practically vibrating in place as Brock stood in the closet, assessing the rows of clothes. Brock had a horrible habit of popping into the boutiques in town and finding absolutely adorable clothes for TJ and the walk-in showed it. Brock finally withdrew a light blue cotton tee with a small stitched t-rex on the lapel pocket and a pair of slightly darker blue shorts. He laid them on the sail boat styled bed and tried to coax TJ from his loft where he kept most of his stim toys and soft blankets for when he was having trouble handling situations. One entire wall was covered in a mural of the sea, with sea creatures and shells lying on the ocean floor. It was absolutely gorgeous and how they had met their friend Steve. He was the local artist who had spent three weeks doing it all by hand and had come back, two weeks later, to paint a wall in TJ’s playroom with chalkboard paint. </p>
<p>Steve’s husband (and Johnny’s older brother) Bucky had been the contractor who opened up an arched doorway between the two rooms and added a second stim loft where they mounted a TV for movie nights as a family during the days when being downstairs was too overwhelming for TJ. </p>
<p>“Daddy, I have my dinosaur suit up here. That would be really cool to wear, don’t you think?”</p>
<p>Brock bobbed his head agreement. “That would be really cool but it gets hot there, right bud?”</p>
<p>TJ popped his head over the railing with a look of thought. “Maybe… Maybe I shouldn’t wear the dinosaur suit.” </p>
<p>“That’s probably a good idea. How about you come pick your socks?”</p>
<p>TJ spent a good ten minutes assessing his sock collection and trying to choose between a prehistoric creature, a farm animal, or a food design while Brock stared at the top shelf where all the hats were lined up, trying to decide which one was best. </p>
<p>“Avocados,” TJ announced, holding them up triumphantly in his fist. </p>
<p>“Awesome choice! Do you wanna wear your sneakers or your sandals?” </p>
<p>“Sandals!” </p>
<p>Brock took the blue Dolce and Gabbana sandals from the lines of shoes filling the back wall. “Sandals it is! How about the floppy sun hat?” </p>
<p>“With lemons,” TJ clarified, stripping out of his pjs. “I like that one best.” </p>
<p>“It is a very good hat,” Brock agreed, reaching for it. </p>
<p>He left TJ to finish getting dressed and went to his room. Jack was already dressed, emerging from his closet wearing his blue UNTUCKit oxford and a pair of dark slacks. “How’s Teej coming along?” </p>
<p>“Good, I have all his clothes laid out if you want to oversee the process so he doesn’t get distracted.” Brock was already shucking off his sleep tee and entering his closet. “Socks and sandals again. I hope you’re proud of yourself.”</p>
<p>“It’s the Rollins’ way, Brock. You knew what to expect when you married me.”</p>
<p>“I hoped to change you,” Brock replied, pulling down a J Crew polo and Bonobos chinos. “Clearly I failed.” </p>
<p>“You can’t fix perfection. Socks and sandals are timeless and you’re just jealous.” </p>
<p>“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” </p>
<p>Before they left TJ ran onto the patio and told his little tomato plants that once they grew up they too would get to go along. </p>
<p>After everyone was dressed, they found their way to the car. Brock had fought getting a Subaru Ascent for as long as he could but during the winter months, his car couldn’t provide the same level of safety. Brock hadn’t wanted to become one of those preppy families but living here had slowly but surely turned him into the thing he swore he’d never be. </p>
<p>The farmer’s market was exactly as busy as it always was, finding parking a pain that was lessened only by TJ’s excitement. Once their Subaru was surrounded by thirty other Subarus, they started across the field where rows of tables were set up. A local band was playing and the air already smelled like fire baked pizza, brisket and charcoal grills from all the small restaurants that had set up shop. TJ was holding both their hands, bouncing along as he looked for Steve and Bucky’s stand. </p>
<p>“There! See?”</p>
<p>Their table had zucchinis because Steve had planted far too many and now was overwhelmed by them, fiddleheads Johnny loved to pick, and plum tomatoes. “Jo Jo! Hi! We’re here now, see?”</p>
<p>Jack and Brock released TJ who raced to where Johnny was coloring. His picture was quickly abandoned as he met TJ half way with a big hug. “Morning,” Bucky greeted with a smile. “How are you?”</p>
<p>“Good, you?” Jack extended a hand for a handshake and Brock rolled his eyes at his formality, looking at Steve. </p>
<p>“How’s it so far?”</p>
<p>“Can’t complain. These things just won’t stop growing.” Steve frowned down at the zucchini. </p>
<p>They chatted for a while, parting for those who were buying produce. TJ and Johnny were excitedly discussing the upcoming end of the year field trip and Jack was telling Bucky about the new account he’d taken on, tireless in his efforts to recruit him to the company. Bucky was an accountant by trade but he did more contracting than anything else, hardly able to stand sitting at a desk all day. </p>
<p>TJ began to remind them about the lemonade and Johnny pleaded for Bucky to let him have some too. As usual a small battle over Jack not accepting money to buy it began and, as usual, Bucky’s stubbornness won out. Jack got his own payback by buying lemonades for Bucky and Steve. Eventually Jack and Brock wandered down, past the llama wool knit tea cozies and pot holders, to Coulson’s woodworking display where Jack lingered over a resin decorative bowl that, as expected, he bought. Clint and Natasha were lounging in lawn chairs with Lucky at their side, jars of a honey of various sizes and honeycombs for sale. “Well if it isn’t the preppiest preps in all of Shires Peak.” Clint sat up with a grin. “How the hell are ya?”</p>
<p>“Good until I saw you,” Brock countered. “We’re only here for your wife and your dog.” </p>
<p>Clint laid a hand over his chest in faux hurt and looked at TJ who was eyeing the honey sticks. “Is that true?”</p>
<p>TJ looked at him with a dimpled smile. “Nope, I’m always happy to see you and Lucky and Natty!”</p>
<p>“And we’re happy to see you,” Natasha agreed, plucking two honey sticks from the mason jar holding them. “Two honey sticks for two of the sweetest boys here.”</p>
<p>“No,” Johnny protested. “I’m not sweet, I’m cool!” </p>
<p>Natasha nodded her head with a look of grave understanding. “I totally get it. You are pretty dang cool.” </p>
<p>Johnny nodded his head in agreement and accepted the offered treat. “We were thinking about having everyone over for dinner,” Jack told Clint. “Bucky and Steve said they’ll be there.”</p>
<p>“Hey, I’m not gonna say no to free food. Especially if Brock is in charge of meats?”</p>
<p>“Always,” Brock nodded. </p>
<p>“Hell yeah, we’ll be there. I’ll even bring a potato salad I know no one will eat.” </p>
<p>“I didn’t know you were also making it,” Jack protested, cheeks tingeing a bit. </p>
<p>Brock knew that Jack still felt bad about the dinner they’d had two months ago where Clint had brought a potato salad that was ultimately ignored because Jack had, as always, made an unbelievably delicious one. Clint hadn’t cared of course, he was never one to linger on things especially when there was good food involved. </p>
<p>“I’m just messing with you,” Clint reminded him with a wink. Lucky had found his way to TJ and was licking the stray honey off his hands. “Gimme the day and time and we’ll be there.”</p>
<p>Their final stop at the end where Sam and Riley were showing off their syrup. Decorative glass pints sold well with tourists and the big jugs sold especially well with locals. There was a sample plate of maple fudge Riley had made under a glass cover and packages of said fudge and maple candies available for purchase. This was the table that Brock liked best. </p>
<p>“Hey,” Sam called with a smile. “How’s it going little man?” </p>
<p>TJ was already zeroing in on the samples. “I’m not little,” he reminded him. “I’m seven now y’know.” </p>
<p>“I do, I was at your party.” Sam nodded. “Hey Johnny, how’s your brother? I haven’t had the chance to say hi yet.” </p>
<p>“He didn’t let me have toaster pastries for breakfast.” Johnny informed him. “But he’s okay besides that.” </p>
<p>Riley leaned over to remove the cover and urged TJ and Johnny to take two each. Brock bought another gallon of Grade A medium amber and Jack shared the news of the dinner. “We expect another one of those maple cakes you made last time,” Brock tacked on and Riley grinned. </p>
<p>“Already a step ahead of ya, Brock.” </p>
<p>By the time they were heading back to the car, their reusable bags used especially for the market were teeming with veggies and jams and treats. TJ looked ready for a nap and Brock was looking forward to a quiet afternoon sunbathing on the back porch. It was just another Sunday but somehow each one felt better than the last. Brock figured that was just the effect of being so happy and when he met Jack’s eye he knew there were many more happy days in their future.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The song he sings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jack has a visitor at the beach.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings/tags: Merpeople, First meetings, Food</p>
<p>Technically I'm still on time since I live in the west coast :P</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><br/><p>
  <span>Jack sighed, staring out at the ocean once again just like all the other times he’s decided to come down to the beach only a few steps away from his back deck.  It was just a better place to think, bare feet stepping off the cooled sand and walking across the old dock, a warm tupperware container in hand.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a waste, spending time and effort on creating a new recipe of kombu-baked cod on a bed of buttered peas and fingerling potatoes that was dressed in a mint hollandaise sauce.  But he did it anyway, as he’d been doing the past week.  Going each night to the late night shops in town and coming back with various ingredients before blanking out and allowing his hands to lead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This life of solitude was not as great as he had hoped lately. Deep down he missed everyone he left behind, no matter how few the amount was.  He just longed to be around someone he had a comfortable repertoire with.  A friend.  Just someone genuinely interested in listening, or he could listen as was usually the case. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He came to the end of the docks and sat himself down, his pant legs were already rolled up in anticipation of the water, slipping them in and ignoring the sharp chill Fall had brought in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Somewhere in the distance he heard splashing, but usually those were sounds he didn’t think too much about.  Seals played close, as did other sea animals and really, if he heard nothing it would have been much weirder to him. It was quiet until he heard it again, closer, and his brows knitted together as he looked around. But then there was stillness for a long moment and Jack shrugged to himself, tugging the top off the container and setting it to the side.  A fork sat in his pocket and soon he was taking a bite of the cod, still warm on his tongue and he inhaled softly, relishing in the subtly salty flavor of the kombu.  He forked a fingerling potato with some of the sauce before he heard another gentle flick of water across the surface.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What’re ya eatin’?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Confusion crossed Jack’s mind as he swallowed and looked around.  He never found people around at this time of the night.  It was then at the corner of his eye, a tail or some sort, a </span>
  <em>
    <span>fish</span>
  </em>
  <span> tail broke the surface of the water before disappearing in the depths and Jack wondered if he accidentally poisoned himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abruptly a dark haired man surfaced at the opposite side of the dock, evidently swimming in the water beneath him, muscular arms folded on the wood as he stared at him curiously.  Though clearly he wasn’t a man if Jack wasn’t exactly hallucinating, plus the gills were a big giveaway as well.  He sat frozen as it sniffed the air, a flick of a black tailfin carrying red trim behind him.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d rub his eyes if he could move, but at the moment Jack couldn’t.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The being inched closer, no menace to the movement, not even looking his way, the moonlight picked up a hue of copper in his eyes and he was still practically tasting something in the air. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It smells like cod, I know it, but..it's funny..”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack was lost for words.  His eyes tracked every shift of his new visitor’s body against the lap of water swallowing his torso.  He slowly came to the realization that it wasn’t much interested in him as he was to the food in his lap, fork still perched between his index and middle fingers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know if I’m seeing things.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You ain’t.” It replied, now inches from Jack’s legs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hadn’t been pulled into the water to drown yet and so he held out the food, mirroring the way it flinched when he did but not retreating, not yet at least.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he, or it, realized nothing was going to happen with the move, he came back in near his legs again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Do you want to try it?  You’re right, it is cod."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked dubious but evidently curiosity got the better of him.  "Feed me, human."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For someone that just met him, Jack found the </span>
  <em>
    <span>mer..man?</span>
  </em>
  <span> weirdly demanding. He went along with it though, taking a forkful of light, flaky cod and holding the utensil out with a steady hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Did mermen know of forks?  This one seemed unaware of them, eyeing it before approaching with an awkward dip of his head. Jack saw sharp rows of teeth and its mouth closed around the fish, he had to use a small bit of strength to keep a hold of the fork as the merman pulled off, chewing with obvious thought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It's good, fresh is better though. Ya ruined it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just cooked it.  I would assume since you know I’m human, that you’d know we do cook a lot of our meats.” He couldn’t believe he was talking cooking with a merman, or whatever he was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack couldn't help but be charmed that at least this creature thought it was okay despite itself.  He offered another forkful and it was taken.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you..?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A merman?” He smiled, all sharp teeth. “Yes.”   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you just come over here to eat my dinner?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And to talk.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack was surprised. “Talk? To me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock hummed and gave a shrug. “I think ya want company.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What makes you say that?” Not that it was a lie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yer always out ‘ere. Alone.” The merman mused, swimming around a bit which Jack couldn’t help following along. “I have been watchin’ ya fer the past week or so.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, not many other humans about ‘ere at this time, yeah?  Then ya started to come on out with food.  I could smell it, even from the water.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s your name?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The mer stared thoughtfully at him, as if processing mental pros and cons before he dipped back in the water, head out just to his bottom lip.  “It’s Brock.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How are you even real?” Jack mumbled in awe, a forkful of fish automatically held out and his new friend accepted another bite. “I thought mermaids were fake.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. Endangered maybe yeah, but we’re quite real.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack pressed his lips together in thought. “What about the other stuff?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Other stuff?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You obviously eat fish, what about..you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock snickered. “It ain’t me ya gotta worry about out ‘ere, human. There are far worse creatures in the sea than merfolk.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose so.” Jack murmured, processing that bit all on its own.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was looked over with interest “Ya look bored. Why don’t ya come in fer a swim?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack’s brow rose. “I’d rather not.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Letting out a snort, Brock came closer to his legs again. “Why? Are ya afraid I might drag ya to yer death?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not entirely, it’s too cold for my entire body to be in there.  But since you mentioned it, isn’t that what merpeople do?  I assume you would have already instead of demanding I feed you cod if you already had planned to eat me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock huffed like he’d just been insulted. “I ain’t a siren, don’t mix their likes with mine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But you do drown people?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was only answered with a simple shrug, a playful smile at Brock’s lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack opened his mouth to say something but he barely heard a slight shrill noise that caused Brock to turn in its direction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I must go. You will make me more tomorrow."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock didn’t wait for confirmation, deep diving back into the water.  His shimmery tail arced over the water surface, casting droplets that shined like diamonds against the moonlight before disappearing entirely into the depths with its owner.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack had no words, he only stared out dumbly, a thought crossing his mind before he drew in his legs and folded them under himself remembering Brock’s words about other creatures.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He eventually stared down at his dinner, only to find potatoes and peas waiting for him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack returned like he always did the past week, a new tupperware container in hand, this time round and colored a sunny yellow.  He had a towel protecting his hands from the radiating heat and on the dock he didn’t slip his feet in this time since it was much too cold for that today, an open cardigan over his regular outfit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It didn’t take long for Brock to come out and greet him, arms propped up on the wood as he peeked upwards to his face before all his attention went to the large bowl.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What did you bring me, human?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jack.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My name.  It’s Jack.” Jack proceeded to sit down at the opposite corner of the dockend, remembering the abrupt flinch from before. “And I made some Moqueca.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What is..” Brock trailed off in concentration, his gills opening wide before they settled back into place and Jack couldn’t help staring. “Whatever that is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Moqueca.” Jack said, only to see Brock crinkle his nose at him. He pulled off the plastic lid to reveal a fish stew, curls of steam wafting out into the cool air. “It’s a fish stew made with onions, garlic, bell peppers, tomatoes, cilantro, and coconut milk. I used swordfish this time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulled one of two soup spoons from his cardigan pocket and Brock moved in closer, arm bumping against Jack’s knee.  Jack held it out for him to take but Brock only stared at the stew expectantly and instead of questioning it, he decided to go ahead and get some on the spoon, giving it a courteous blow before holding it out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This time Brock didn’t back up, he arched up instead, engulfing the end of the spoon and refusing to relinquish it until Jack gave it a firm tug.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock hummed thoughtfully and proceeded to lift himself out of the water. Jack just watched him a moment, eyes widening as they took in the merman’s full form. His black with red trim scales glistened against the fuller cast of moonlight, his dark hair pushed back away from his handsome chiseled face.  Jack couldn’t help but admire a truly beautiful sight, even if he wasn’t going to say it outloud. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock relaxed with a soft sigh, righting himself up against the dock to sit properly, his tail tipped into the water like Jack’s legs had last night.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lifted the end of his tail just to give the surface water a playful smack and Jack snapped out of his daze, Brock staring at him with a smirk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“More.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack tried not to smile, keeping his spoon close to his chest. “Please?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“More please..Jack.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This time Jack let himself smile, equally amused and charmed.  Brock was beautiful, he couldn’t take his eyes off him.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blindly he spooned another mouthful and held it out, Brock keeping their gazed locked together as he opened his mouth and they met halfway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I like this one better.” Brock said between chews, webbed hands pressed against the boards between them. “Ya still ruined the freshness by cookin’ the swordfish.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Forgive me.” Jack murmured softly, feeding Brock another spoon and watched him eagerly accept it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yer forgiven. Eat.” Brock ordered, pulling his head away from another offering of fish, a wet hand pressed against Jack’s outer wrist.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fondness took over every ounce of Jack’s being, doing what he was told and taking a well rounded spoonful of stew.  It was Brock’s turn to smile fond at him, tail sweeping in and out of the water and Jack was really here doing this.  He couldn’t believe it, spending dinner with a merman on the docks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They shared the meal together and Jack offered up the portion of soup left, full up for now.  Brock accepted the bowl, webbed hands curving around delicately and bringing the container to his lips.  The loud slurping sound was definitely not something Jack had anticipated and he burst out laughing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock lowered the bowl with a glower, lips tinted a gentle red from the broth and Jack’s eyes tracked the dribble of it roll down and off his chin. “Why are ya laughin’ at me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not. You surprised me, the way you were drinking the soup. I didn’t expect it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And why not?” He asked, finishing off the dredges of what lingered behind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I guess because you seem so flawless.  Granted we’ve only met recently, so I may be a terrible judge of character.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A pleased smile crossed Brock’s lips as he handed back the container. “Perhaps, but yer damn charmin’ anyway.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ducking his head away, Jack distracted himself with closing the tupperware and setting it aside with the towel it came with. “So are you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tilting his head like he was curious, Brock nodded and twisted his body, pushing off and into the water again, barely causing a splash. “I haveta go now.  Will ya come back tomorrow?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack actually had some plans with some co-workers tomorrow night, but the question was so odd and intriguing, a small smile piqued across his lips as he gave him a nod. “I will.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Biting his own lip in thought, Brock didn’t say anything for a long beat of breath before he lifted a hand between them. “Wait.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He dove down into the water and Jack admired the flick of his tail chasing along, anticipating what was going on. It took a few minutes before he was back again, hair spilled back and Jack tried not to stare too long at how pretty Brock’s lashes looked right then.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“‘Ere, for you.  Take it.” Cupped in his hands was a large sand dollar, the petal-like pattern etched across and it was automatic for Jack to reach out for it. “It’s dead.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack paused, unsure of what to make of that. “Does that mean something?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock shook his head, placing it into Jack’s palm. “Only that it’s dead. Humans take good shells from the sea for their shops, they kill what lives inside. I won’t give ya a live urchin, but I think it’s pretty anyway.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly understanding, Jack was touched, examining with a finger drawn across the garden flower pattern.  He’d never thought of it like that before, and it left him with a new outlook. “Thank you, I think I’ll keep it in the window.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glanced up to see Brock staring at him, almost surprised. “Ya will?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If there was anything he wasn’t used to yet on Brock that he should have been used to, it was that the light flush across his face, even reaching his ears. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack smiled and gave him a nod, reaching out to stoke the edge of his index finger along the lobe of Brock’s ear. “I never knew mers blushed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As if in silent comment, Brock let his head tilt a little and Jack moved his fingers along the cut of his jaw, and then to where his gills began, paper-light curious touches tracing them out. He was so amazed at how smooth he felt there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was when Brock made a strange swallowed sound in the back of his throat that Jack realized his movements and brought his hand away.  Abrupt shame washed over him for being so forward despite his mind reminding him Brock could have easily moved away if he didn’t want the contact.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock kept his gaze but didn’t say anything, water stilling around his shoulders.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a long drawn out moment, he turned toward something Jack couldn’t hear or see. “Goodbye, Jack.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was gone before Jack’s tongue stopped feeling heavy in his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On the third night, Jack carried a basket.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He parked himself on the edge of the dock as usual, unfolding a blue tea towel across the boards he had tucked under the handle before resting the basket next to it.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Out of the basket first came a small cast iron teapot and then two black cups.  He wasn’t sure if Brock had drank tea before but he brought it for himself if anything.  After, he set out a pair of shallow bowls with garnishes of soy sauce and grated wasabi, though keeping in mind he’d have to make sure Brock didn’t swallow the horseradish like it was some common snack.  He’d never hear the end of it; he was sure of that if it happened.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Last was the platter of ice, carrying fresh cuts of sashimi in a floral petal pattern like the sand dollar.  He looked up when there was a soft noise at the edge and then Brock’s hands pushed up as he pulled himself onto the dock.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack couldn’t help the immediate smile, watching Brock already examining the raw seafood in interest all the while the edge of his tail continued to dip itself in the water. “Hi.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What ya bring?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sashini.” Jack said simply, pouring out green tea for the both of them. “I visited the wharf in the early morning and I was in luck.  There were a lot of good catches today.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have ya set me a picnic to be romantic?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The question made Jack pause, second guessing himself in a flurry of panic until a smirk spread across Brock's face. And Jack realized his leg was getting pulled. “Shouldn’t tease.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock gave him a casual half shrug. “It is a picnic, and they can be romantic. And look, ya decorated it like the sand dollar!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack’s ears warmed. “I just wanted to do something nice.” He looked up when there was silence and Brock was staring at him, laid out on his side with the full moon completely out tonight. Brock’s dark scales glistened like magic and Jack had to force down a swallow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> nice.” Brock confirmed. “Explain sa-shimi.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, it's a traditional form of dining in Japan that goes back thousands of years. Basically put, it’s raw meat cut into bite-sized rectangular shapes, but I’m sticking to seafood here since you seem to prefer it.” He gestured to the garnishes. “You can eat it as is, or with a slight dip in some soy sauce- the dark stuff, or with wasabi, though I would be careful, if you’re not into something that packs a nasal punch of..for the lack of a better word, spiciness.  I would watch out.  Or you can mix them, as I sometimes do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked up to see Brock following along and a warmth spread in Jack’s belly, gesturing over to the teapot.  “That’s a kyusu, a Japanese teapot.  I poured us some green tea, since it’s light and goes with fish, though you may not like it.  I’m not sure what you’d entirely want aside from seafood.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Noticing Brock was still waiting for more, Jack cleared his throat. “Those two are tunas: Skipjack, bigeye.” He continued, gesturing to two of the five petal formations. “Then we have some salmon, and I happened to find some scallops. But the main showstopper is the b- "</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bluefin!” Brock cut in, clearly excited as he pressed his hands against the wet wood and leaned in closer towards the platter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I take it you enjoy bluefin.” He retrieved a pair of chopsticks, holding them up. “Do you use these? I figured you wouldn’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. What are they?  And I ain’t ever had bluefin, been told it’s good though.  How’d ya get it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a secret.” Jack said with a smile, holding out the gently steaming cup as Brock shook his head at him. “Try it, though don’t burn yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You must wanna pull out all the stops today. Do ya believe in mates, Jackie?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack almost dropped his own tea. “That’s a weird question.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I only ask because bluefin is rare, ya must think ya gotta impress me to be offerin’ it up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack didn’t answer.  He wasn’t thinking much of anything.  He did think of Brock all day, but it was more of an excitement to spend another dinner with company he liked.  Company he was getting to know and company that he never truly knew existed until a few days ago.  The bluefin was a splurge, sure it was, but he thought it would be okay.  He wasn’t exactly thinking of </span>
  <em>
    <span>marriage</span>
  </em>
  <span> with a sea creature, that’s for sure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yer goin’ deep into yer ‘ead again.” Brock commented, snapping Jack out of his thoughts. He slid along the wood a little. “Feed me, Jack.” And then he opened his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a weird topic to continue, so Jack listened to what he was told to do, picking up a piece of bluefin with his chopsticks and giving it a light dip in his soy and wasabi combination, placing it carefully in Brock’s awaiting mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock reacted as he generally expected, thoughtful and humming in absent bliss as he processed his serving.  He laid stretched against his side and eventually onto his back, hands tucked beneath his head. “That is delicious.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m glad you think so.” Jack said, taking one for himself as he assessed with each chew.  The fishmonger that sold it to him had mentioned the cut was called chutoro, and as explained, it did have a very rich taste and buttery texture.  He was immediately enamored and understood the hefty price he’d paid for it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They continued their meal in comfortable silence, Brock sipping away at the green tea and lavishly sprawling himself when he took a food break from time to time.  Jack continued to feed him when he asked and it was nice spending time together, the basket filled back up once their platter was empty.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, do you believe in mates?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack paused to look at him carefully. “Yes, well I believe in two people together for their lives if that’s what you mean.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do. I can shift, ya know?” Brock gestured at his tail. “Legs.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack felt a heaviness settle in his stomach.  He already knew what Brock was getting at, he wasn’t stupid, and he also wasn’t going to make this mer leave his life even if it was just for a visit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why would you be interested in a human like me?  I’m sure there’s a lot of your kind out in the sea.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock hummed and turned onto his belly, with arms folded under his chin as he faced him. “There's somethin’ about ya.” He replied. “Somethin’ I find in m’self, it’s why I kept watchin’ and waitin’ fer the feelin’ to go away.  Instead, I ended up sayin’ hello.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you don’t have your own..mate?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not yet. I find it hard to settle down usually.” He smirked a little again. “You though, ya seem different fer me.  I like how quiet yer energy is.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I see.” Jack murmured, unable to keep his eyes from trailing across the mer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not that Brock seemed to mind as he huffed softly in amusement. “Tell me, Jack, why do </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> not have a mate yet?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I never really thought about it.  I guess I just figured if it happened, it would happen I suppose.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Until now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now? I never said anything about now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You didn’t have to. I can see as clear as day. It’s written all over yer face as have yer actions.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack chuckled weakly, a hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “I- uh well..it’s nice I mean.  Being what you are and everything..that you trusted me enough, I just wanted to- “ He coughed forcefully, bringing a hand to his mouth and shook his head. “Why am I rambling? I never ramble, I just guess I wanted to be nice, since you tried..and the sand dollar. That was nice too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stopped himself from talking further, despite wanting to. Brock reached out, and Jack couldn’t help but take his hand in his, thumb stroking cool smooth skin. “I don’t know what to say, Brock.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In time ya will.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It sounded like a promise, and Jack felt a spark of something, a crash of excitement as their fingers twined together the best he could as to avoid the webbing between fingers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, you’re going to come back?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brock hummed, a smile spreading his lips like there was a joke Jack had absolutely missed, but his eyes were soft on him, fond.  It was..nice. “Tomorrow. Bring candles.” He replied, bringing their hands to his lips to press a kiss there before he flashed him a wink and Jack felt his face going warm. "The moon will be gone then." He explained, suddenly pulling away and sliding back into the water.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack took in a sharp inhale, wanting to call after him, but Brock was long gone. He felt a pang of sadness fold in like the waves along the sand and at least seeing it like that was a small comfort.  He shook his head, picking up the basket and began to walk back to his beach house. He paused when he was on the sand again, staring back at the water unable to stop thinking about that beautiful dark hair and piercing copper-gold eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe Brock was right.  Maybe Jack was for him.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. how could I say goodbye</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jack wishes he could try again. Not to be a better man because he knows that’s impossible, but if he could change it, he would have left sooner and in a much different way.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings: low calorie angst, depression, mentions of suicide </p><p>Title from Look On Down from the Bridge by Mazzy Star</p><p>This is a super late (and unintended) addition.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Brock still goes to the same gym. </p><p>There’s not so much drag in his step now, no lines of worry and sadness marring his handsome features. He’s slimmed back down since returning to this place, the kind of seedy gym that Jack was always wary about but Brock swore upon. </p><p>Jack misses that, the arguing and the eventual forgiveness that they came away with. Mostly Jack misses holding Brock, feeling his skin and hearing his sleepy voice slurring playful insults. Jack likes to think that if he could do it all over again, he’d have stayed. But then the skies turn dark and any sliver of happiness at seeing him turns into the bitter dredges of regret. He knows he got exactly what he had wanted, that he had finally achieved something as humorless as it was.</p><p>Brock was always there for those failures. For the days that bled into weeks where just breathing was a chore that Jack wanted to throw away. Brock loved him through it, fierce in his devotion; pure in his love.</p><p>Jack wishes he could try again. Not to be a better man because he knows that’s impossible, but if he could change it, he would have left sooner and in a much different way.</p><p>A letter, Jack thinks as he watches Brock cross the street and hail a cab. The sound of wet tires on pavement is nice, Jack finds. But everything around Brock is nice in comparison to this world — this place — that Jack was in. </p><p>Brock gets in and gives the bars address. It was small and new, Bruce and Betsy’s pride and joy. Jack wishes he could have been there for the opening, to crack open a cold beer around his friends and wrap an arm around Brock. Natasha had when she noticed the way Brock’s shoulders dropped and he began to shrink into himself.</p><p>Jack is happy he has her. </p><p>Brock sits at the bar and Bruce goes to him immediately, offering a smile. They go through the same greeting as usual, Bruce offering quiet support and kind gestures that Brock smiles at but ultimately refuses preferring the liquid sort of a comfort. Jack has no one to blame but himself that he’s not there to hold him. </p><p>At night when Brock’s back in the same one bedroom sandwiched between rowdy young adults and a family with a lots of little ones, Jack feels a semblance of peace. He can momentarily free himself of his own self inflicted torment and watch Brock. He’s not the same, Jack knows that he’ll probably never be the same, but Brock’s been turning a scrap of paper with a phone number scrawled on it for almost a week now.</p><p>Jack wants him to call the dorky blond from IT. He’s nothing like Jack and that’s what Brock needs. Jack wants Brock to have that happy ever after he deserves. He wishes he could have been the one to give it to him but life is never what you plan. </p><p>As Brock settles down, staring at the pillow where Jack’s head once lay, Jack’s final regret hits him hard. </p><p>He wishes he would have said goodbye.</p>
  </div></div>
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